Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2016 


https://archive.org/details/senecasmoralsbyw01sene 


SENECA’S  MORALS 


BY  WAY  OP  ABSTRACT. 

TO  WHICH  IS  ADDED, 

A DISCOURSE, 


UNDER  THE  TITLE  OE 

AN  AF  TER  THOUGHT. 


BY  SIR  ROGER  L’ESTRANGE,  Krt. 


SIXTH  AME^AN  EDITION 


PHILADELPHIA: 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  & CO. 
1880. 


: )m-m  m t 

.'.JU..  - H.'.- 


& 


P- 


TO  THE  READER. 


r' 


V 

Cs- 

Co, 


IT  has  been  a long  time  my  thouglit  to  turn  Seneca  into 
English;  but  whether  as  a translation  or  an  abstract,  was  the 
question.  A translation,  I perceive,  it  must  not  be,  at  last, 
for  several  reasons.  First,  it  is  a thing  already  done  to  my 
hand,  and  of  above  sixty  years’  standing;  though  with  as 
little  credit,  perhaps,  to  the  Author,  as  satisfaction  to  the 
Reader.  Secondly,  There  is  a great  deal  in  him,  that  is 
wholly  foreign  to  my  business:  as  his  philosophical  treatises 
of  Meteors,  Earthquakes,  the  Original  of  Rivers,  several 
frivolous  disputes  betwixt  the  Epicureans  and  the  Stoics,  &c. 
to  say  nothing  of  his  frequent  repetitions  of  the  same  thing 
again  in  other  words,  (wherein  he  very  handsomely  excuses 
himself,  by  saying,  “ That  he  does  but  inculcate  over  and 
over  the  same  counsels  to  those  that  over  and  over  commit 
the  same  faults.”)  Thirdly,  His  excellency  consists  rather 
in  a rhapsody  of  divine  and  extraordinary  hints  and  notions, 
than  in  any  regulated  method  of  discourse ; so  that  to  take 
him  as  he  lies,  and  so  to  go  through  with  him,  were  utterly 
inconsistent  with  the  order  and  brevity  which  I propound ; 
my  principal  design  being  only  to  digest,  and  commonplace 
his  Morals,  in  such  sort,  that  any  man,  upon  occasion,  may 
know  where  to  find  them.  And  I have  kept  myself  so  close 
to  this  proposition,  that  I have  reduced  all  his  scattered 
Ethics  to  their  proper  heads,  without  any  additions  of  my 
own,  more  than  of  absolute  necessity  for  the  tacking  of  them 
together.  Some  other  man  in  my  place  would  perhaps  make 
you  twenty  apologies  for  his  want  of  skill  and  address,  in 
governing  this  affair;  but  these  are  formal  and  pedantic 
fooleries,  as  if  any  man  that  first  takes  himself  for  a cox- 
comb in  his  own  heart,  would  afterwards  make  himself  one 
in  print  too.  This  Abstract,  such  as  it  is,  you  are  extremely 
welcome  to ; and  I am  sorry  it  is  no  better,  both  for  your 
Bakes  and  my  own : for  if  it  were  written  up  to  the  spirit 
of  the  original,  it  would  be  one  of  the  most  valuable  presents 
that  ever  anv  private  man  bestowed  upon  the  public;  and 
this  too,  evei.  in  the  judgment  of  both  parties,  as  well  Chris 
tian  as  Heathen : of  which  in  its  due  place. 


IV 


TO  THE  READER. 


Next  to  my  choice  of  the  Author  and  of  the  subject,  to- 
gether with  the  manner  of  handling  it,  I have  likewise  had 
some  regard,  in  this  publication,  to  the  timing  of  it,  and  to 
the  preference  of  this  topic  of  Benefits  above  all  others,  for 
the  groundwork  of  my  first  essay.  We  are  fallen  into  an 
• age  of  vain  philosojAiy  (as  the  holy  apostle  calls  it)  and  so 
desperately  overrun  with  Drolls  and  Sceptics,  that  there  is 
hardly  any  thing  so  certain  or  so  sacred,  that  is  not  exposed 
to  question  and  contempt,  insomuch,  that  betwixt  the  hypc- 
crite  and  the  Atheist,  the  very  foundations  of  religion  and 
good  manners  are  shaken,  and  the  two  tables  of  the  Deca- 
logue dashed  to  pieces  the  one  against  the  other;  the  laws 
of  government  are  subjected  to  the  fancies  of  the  vulgar ; 
public  authority  to  the  private  passions  and  opinions  of  the 
people ; and  the  supernatural  motions  of  grace  confounded 
with  the  common  dictates  of  nature.  In  this  state  of  corrup- 
tion, who  so  fit  as  a good  honest  Christian  Pagan  for  a 
moderator  among  Pagan  Christians'? 

To  pass  now  from  the  general  scope  of  the  whole  work 
to  the  particular  argument  of  the  first  part  of  it,  I pitched 
upon  the  theme  of  Benefits,  Gratitude,  and  Ingratitude,  to 
begin  withal,  as  an  earnest  of  the  rest,  and  a lecture  ex- 
pressly calculated  for  the  unthankfulness  of  these  times; 
the  foulest  undoubtedly,  and  the  most  execrable  of  all  others, 
since  the  very  apostasy  of  the  angels : nay,  if  I durst  but 
suppose  a possibility  of  mercy  for  those  damned  spirits,  and 
that  they  might  ever  be  taken  into  favor  again,  iny  charity 
would  hope  even  better  for  them  than  we  have  found  from 
some  of  our  revolters,  and  that  they  would  so  behave  them 
selves  as  not  to  incur  a second  forfeiture.  And  to  carry  the 
resemblance  yet  one  point  farther,  they  do  both  of  them 
agree  in  an  implacable  malice  against  those  of  their  fellows 
that  keep  their  stations.  But,  alas ! what  could  Ingratitude 
do  without  Hypocrisy,  the  inseparable  companion  of  it,  and, 
in  effect,  the  bolder  and  blacker  devil  of  the  two  ? for  Lu- 
cifer himself  never  had  the  face  to  lift  up  his  eyes  to  hea- 
ven, and  talk  to  the  Almighty  at  the  familiar  rate  of  our 
pretended  patriots  and  zealots,  and  at  the  same  time  to  make 
him  party  to  a cheat.  It  is  not  for  nothing  that  the  Holy 
Ghost  has  denounced  so  many  woes,  and  redoubled  so  many 
cautions  against  hypocrites;  plainly  intimating  at  once  how 
dangerous  a snare  they  are  to  mankind,  and  no  less  odious 
to  God  himself;  which  is  sufficiently  denoted  in  the  force 


TO  THE  READER. 


V 


of  that  dreadful  expression.  And  your  portion  shall  he  with 
hypocrites.  You  will  find  in  the  holy  scriptures  (as  I have 
formerly  observed)  that  God  has  given  the  grace  of  repent- 
ance to  persecutors,  idolaters,  murderers,  adulterers,  &c. 
but  I am  mistaken  if  the  whole  bible  affords  you  any  one 
instance  of  a converted  hypocrite. 

To  descend  now  from  truth  itself  to  our  own  experience 
have  we  not  seen,  even  in  our  days,  a most  pious  (and  al- 
most faultless)  Prince  brought  to  the  scaffold  by  his  own 
subjects  1 the  most  glorious  constitution  upon  the  face  of  the 
earth,  both  ecclesiastical  and  civil,  torn  to  pieces  and  dis- 
solved! the  happiest  people  under  the  sun  enslaved  1 our 
temples  sacrilegiously  profaned,  and  a license  given  to  all 
sorts  of  heresy  and  outrage!  and  by  whom  but  by  a race  of 
hypocrites!  who  had  nothing  in  their  mouths  all  this  while 
. but  the  purity  of  the  gospel,  the  honor  of  the  king,  and  the 
liberty  of  the  people,  assisted  underhand  with  defamatory 
papers,  which  were  levelled  at  the  king  himself  through  the 
sides  of  his  most  faithful  ministers.  This  project  succeeded 
BO  well  against  one  government,  that  it  is  now  again  set 
afoot  against  another ; and  by  some  of  the  very  actors  tiw 
in  that  tragedy,  and  after  a most  gracious  pardon  also,  when 
Providence  had  laid  their  necks  and  their  fortunes  at  his 
majesty’s  feet.  It  is  a wonderful  thing  that  libels  and  li- 
bellers, the  most  infamous  of  practices  and  of  men  ; the 
most  unmanly  sneaking  methods  and  instruments  of  mis- 
chief; the  very  bane  of  human  society,  and  the  plague  of 
aW  governments ; it  is  a wonderful  thing  (I  say)  that  these 
engines  and  engineers  should  ever  find  credit  enough  in 
the  world  to  engage  a party ; but  it  would  be  still  more 
wonderful  if  the  same  trick  should  pass  twice  upon  the 
same  people,  in  the  same  age,  and  from  the  very  same  im 
POSTORS.  This  contemplation  has  carried  me  a little  out  of 
my  way,  but  it  has  at  length  brought  me  to  my  text  again 
for  there  is  in  the  bottom  of  it  the  highest  opposition  ima 
ginable  of  ingratitude  and  obligation. 

The  reader  will,  in  some  measure,  be  able  to  judge  by 
this  taste  what  he  is  farther  to  expect ; that  is  to  say,  as  to 
the  cast  of  my  design,  and  the  simplicity  of  the  style  and 
dress ; for  that  will  still  be  the  same,  only  accompanied  with 
variety  of  matter.  Whether  it  pleases  the  world  or  no,  the 
care  is  taken ; and  yet  I could  wish  that  it  might  be  as  de- 
lightful to  others  upon  the  perusal,  as  it  has  been  to  me  in 


A 2 


TO  TKE  READER. 


VI 

the  speculation.  Next  to  the  gospel  itself,  I do  look  upon 
it  as  the  most  sovereign  remedy  against  the  miseries  of  hu- 
man nature : and  I have  ever  found  it  so,  in  all  the  injuries 
and  distresses  of  an  unfortunate  life.  You  may  read  more 
of  him,  if  you  please,  in  the  Appendix,  which  I have  here 
subjoined  to  this  Preface,  concerning  the  authority  of  his 
writings,  and  the  circumstances  of  his  life ; as  I have  ex- 
tracted them  out  of  Lipsiua 


OF  SENECA’S  WRITINGS. 


IT  appears  that  our  author  had  among  the  ancients  three 
professed  enemies.  In  the  first  place  Caligula,  who  called 
his  writings,  sand  without  lime  ; alluding  to  the  starts  of  his 
fancy,  and  the  incoherence  of  his  sentences.  But  Seneca 
was  never  the  worse  for  the  censure  of  a person  that  pro- 
pounded even  the  suppressing  of  Homer  himself;  and  of 
casting  Virgil  and  Livy  out  of  all  public  libraries.  The 
next  was  Fabius,  who  taxes  him  for  being  too  bold  with 
the  eloquence  of  former  times,  and  failing  in  that  point  him- 
self ; and  likewise  for  being  too  quaint  and  finical  in  his  ex- 
pressions; which  Tacitus  imputes,  in  part  to  the  freedom 
of  his  own  particular  inclination,  and  partly  to  the  humor 
of  the  times.  He  is  also  charged  by  Fabius  as  no  profound 
philosopher ; but  with  all  this,  he  allows  him  to  be  a man 
very  studious  and  learned,  of  great  wit  and  invention,  and 
well  read  in  all  sorts  of  literature ; a severe  reprover  of  vice ; 
most  divinely  sententious;  and  well  worth  the  reading,  if 
it  were  only  for  his  morals ; adding,  that  if  his  judgment 
had  been  answerable  to  his  wit,  it  had  been  much  the  more 
for  his  reputation ; but  he  wrote  whatever  came  next ; so 
that  I would  advise  the  reader  (says  he)  to  distinguish  where 
he  himself  did  not : for  there  are  many  things  in  him,  not 
only  to  be  approved,  but  admired  ; and  it  was  great  pity  that 
he  that  could  do  what  he  would,  should  not  always  make 
the  best  choice.  His  third  adversary  is  Agellius,  who  falls 
upon  him  for  his  style,  and  a kind  of  tinkling  in  his  sentences, 
but  yet  commends  him  for  his  piety  and  good  counsels.  On 
the  other  side,  Columela  calls  him  a man  of  excellent  wit 
and  learning ; Pliny,  the  prince  of  erudition ; Tacitus 
gives  him  the  character  of  a wise  man,  and  a fit  tutor  for  a 
prince ; Dio  reports  him  to  have  been  the  greatest  man  of 
his  age. 

Of  those  pieces  of  his  that  are  extant,  we  shall  not  need 
to  give  any  particular  account:  and  of  those  that  are  lost, 
we  cannot,  any  farther  than  by  lights  to  them  from  other 
authors,  as  we  find  them  cited  much  to  his  honor ; and  we 
may  reasonably  compute  them  to  be  the  greater  part  of  his 


OF  senfca’s  writings. 


riii 

works.  That  he  wrote  several  poems  in  his  banishment, 
may  be  gathered  partly  from  himself,  but  more  expressly 
out  of  Tacitus,  who  says,  “that  he  was  reproached  with  his 
applying  himself  to  poetry,  after  he  saw  that  Nero  took 
pleasure  in  it,  out  of  a design  to  curry  favor.”  St.  Jerome 
refers  to  a discourse  of  his  concerning  matrimony.  Lactan- 
tius takes  notice  of  his  history,  and  his  books  of  Moralities; 
St.  Augustine  quotes  some  passages  of  his  out  of  a book  of 
Superstition ; some  references  we  meet  with  to  his  books 
of  Exhortations:  Fabius  makes  mention  of  his  Dialogues: 
and  he  himself  speaks  of  a treatise  of  his  own  concerning 
Earthquakes,  which  he  wrote  in  his  youth  : but  the  opinion 
of  an  epistolary  correspondence  that  he  had  with  St.  Paul, 
does  not  seem  to  have  much  color  for  it. 

Some  few  fragments,  however,  of  those  books  of  his  that 
re  wanting,  are  yet  preserved  in  the  writings  of  other  emi- 
ent  authors,  sufficient  to  show  the  world  how  great  a trea- 
ure  they  have  lost  by  the  excellency  of  that  little  that  is  left. 

Seneca,  says  Lactantius,  that  was  the  sharpest  of  all  the 
Divin.  Inslit.  Stoics,  how  great  a veneration  has  he  for  the 
lib.  1.  Cap.  1.  Almighty  i as  for  instance,  discoursing  of  a 
violent  death ; “ Do  you  not  understand  1”  says  he,  “ the 
majesty  and  the  authority  of  your  Judge  ; he  is  the  supreme 
Governor  of  heaven  and  earth,  and  the  God  of  all  your  gods; 
and  it  is  upon  him  that  all  those  powers  depend  which  we 
worship  for  deities.”  Moreover,  in  his  Exhortations,  “This 
God,”  says  he,  “ when  he  laid  the  foundations  of  the  uni- 
verse, and  entered  upon  the  greatest  and  the  best  work  in  na- 
ture, in  the  ordering  of  the  government  of  the  world,  though 
he  was  himself  All  in  all,  yet  he  substituted  other  subordi- 
nate ministers,  as  the  servants  of  his  commands.”  And  how 
many  other  things  does  this  Heathen  speak  of  God  like  one 
of  us ! 

Which  the  acute  Seneca,  says  Lactantius  again,  saw  in  his 
Exhortations.  “We,”  says  he,  “have  our  de- 
pendence  elsewhere,  and  should  look  up  to 
that  Power,  to  which  we  are  indebted  for  all  that  we  can 
pretend  to  that  is  good.” 

And  again,  Seneca  says  very  well  in  his  Morals,  “They 
worship  the  images  of  the  God,”  says  he, 
.lb.  1.  ap.  . jjjjeel  to  them,  and  adore  them : they  are 
hardly  ever  from  them,  either  plying  them  with  offerings 
^r  sacrificos:  and  yet,  after  all  this  reverence  to  the  image, 
fliey  nave  no  regard  at  all  to  the  workman  that  made  it.” 


OF  senega’s  writings. 


IX 


Lactantius  again.  “An  invective,”  says  Seneca  in  his 
Exhortations,  “is  the  masterpiece  of  most  of 
our  philosophers ; and  if  they  fall  upon  the  Lib.  3.  Cap.  15 
subject  of  avarice,  lust,  ambition,  they  lash  out 
into  such  excess  of  bitterness,  as  if  railing  were  a mark 
of  their  profession.  They  make  me  think  of  gallipots  in  an 
apothecary’s  shop,  that  have  remedies  without  and  poison 
within.” 

Lactantius  still.  “He  that  would  know  all  things,  let 
him  read  Seneca ; the  most  lively  describer  of  g ca  9 
public  vices  and  manners,  and  the  smartest  * ‘ ‘ 

reprehenderof  them.” 

And  again  ; as  Seneca  has  it  in  the  books  of  Moral  Phi 
losophy,  “ He  is  the  brave  man,  whose  splendor  ^ 
and  authority  is  the  least  part  of  his  greatness, 
that  can  look  death  in  the  face  without  trouble  or  surprise ; 
who,  if  his  body  were  to  be  broken  upon  the  wheel,  or 
melted  lead  to  be  poured  down  his  throat,  would  be  less 
concerned  for  the  pain  itself,  than  for  the  dignity  of  bear- 
ing it.”  • 

Let  no  man,  says  Lactantius,  think  himself  the  safer  in 
his  wickedness  for  want  of  a witness ; for  God 
isomniscient,andto himnothingcan beasecret.  ' ’ ' 

It  is  an  admirable  sentence  that  Seneca  concludes  his  Ex- 
hortations withal : “ God,”  says  he,  “ is  a great,  (I  know  not 
what)  an  incomprehensible  Power;  it  is  to  him  that  we 
live,  and  to  him  that  we  must  approve  ourselves.  What 
does  it  avail  us  that  our  consciences  are  hidden  from  men, 
when  our  souls  lie  open  to  God  1”  What  could  a Christian 
have  spoken  more  to  the  purpose  in  this  case  than  this  di- 
vine Pagan  1 And  in  the  beginning  of  the  same  work,  says 
Seneca,  “ What  is  it  that  we  do]  to  what  end  is  it  to  stand 
contriving,  and  to  hide  ourselves]  We  are  under  a guard, 
and  there  is  no  escaping  from  our  keeper.  One  man  may 
be  parted  from  another  by  travel,  death,  sickness;  but 
there  is  no  dividing  us  from  ourselves.  It  is  to  no  purpose 
to  creep  into  a corner  where  nobody  shall  see  us.  Ridicu- 
lous madness ! Make  it  the  case,  that  no  mortal  eye  could 
find  us  out,  he  that  has  a conscience  gives  evidence  against 
himself.” 

It  is  truly  and  excellently  spoken  of  Seneca,  says  Lactan- 
tius, once  again ; “ Consider,”  says  he,  “ the  . . 
majesty,  the  goodness,  and  the  venerable  mer-  '' 
cies  of  tlie  Almighty  ; a friend  that  is  always  at  hand. 


X 


OK  senega’s  writings. 


What  delight  can  it  be  to  him  the  slaughter  of  innocent 
creatures  or  the  worship  of  bloody  sacrifices!  Let  us  purge 
our  minds,  and  lead  virtuous  and  honest  lives.  His  pleasure 
lies  not  in  the  magnificence  of  temples  made  with  stone,  but 
in  the  pity  and  devotion  of  consecrated  hearts.” 

In  the  book  that  Seneca  wrote  against  Superstitions, 
De  Civit.  Die.  treating  of  images,  says  St.  Austin,  he  writes 
lib.  6.  Cap.  10.  thus  : “ They  represent  the  holy,  the  im- 
mortal, and  the  inviolable  gods  in  the  basest  matter,  and 
without  life  or  motion ; in  the  forms  of  men,  beasts,  fishes, 
some  of  mixed  bodies,  and  those  figures  they  call  deities , 
which,  if  they  were  but  animated,  would  affright  a man,  and 
pass  for  monsters.”  And  then,  a little  farther,  treating  ol 
Natural  Theology,  after  citing  the  opinions  of  philosophers, 
he  supposes  an  objection  against  himself : “ Somebody  will 
perhaps  ask  me,  Would  you  have  me  then  to  believe  the 
heavens  and  the  earth  to  be  gods,  and  some  of  them  above 
the  moon,  and  some  below  it  1 Shall  I ever  be  brought  to 
the  opinion  of  Plato,  or  of  Strato  the  Peripatetic!  the  one 
of  which  would  have  God  to  be  without  a body,  and  the 
other  without  a mind.”  To  which  he  replies,  “ And  do  you 
give  more  credit  then  to  the  dreams  of  T.  Tatius,  Romulus, 
and  Hostilius,  who  caused,  among  other  deities,  even  Fear 
and  Paleness  to  be  worshipped ! the  vilest  of  human  affec- 
tions ; the  one  being  the  motion  of  an  affrighted  mind,  and 
the  other  not  so  much  the  disease  as  the  color  of  a disorder- 
ed body.  Are  these  the  deities  that  you  will  rather  put 
your  faith  in,  and  place  in  the  heavens !”  And  speaking- 
afterward  of  their  abominable  customs,  with  what  liberty 
does  he  write!  “One,”  says  he,  “out  of  zeal,  makes  him- 
self an  eunuch,  another  lances  his  arms ; if  this  be  the  way 
to  please  their  gods,  what  should  a man  do  if  he  had  a mind 
to  anger  them ! or,  if  this  be  the  way  to  please  them,  they 
do  certainly  deserve  not  to  be  worshipped  at  all.  What  a 
frenzy  is  this  to  imagine  that  the  gods  can  be  delighted  with 
such  cruelties,  as  even  the  worst  of  men  would  make  a 
conscience  to  inflict ! The  most  barbarous  and  notorious  of 
tyrants,  some  of  them  have  perhaps  done  it  themselves,  or 
ordered  the  tearing  of  men  to  pieces  by  others ; but  they 
never  went  so  far  as  to  command  any  man  to  torment  him- 
self We  have  heard  of  those  that  have  suffered  castration 
to  gratify  the  lust  of  their  imperious  masters,  but  never 
any  man  that  was  forced  to  act  it  upon  himself  They  mur- 
der themselves  in  their  very  temples,  and  their  prayers  are 


OF  senega’s  writings. 


XI 


offered  up  in  blood.  Whosoever  shall  but  observe  what 
they  do,  and  what  they  suffer,  will  find  >t  so  misbecoming 
an  honest  man,  so  unworthy  of  a freeman,  and  so  incon- 
sistent with  the  action  of  a man  in  his  wits,  that  he  must 
conclude  them  all  to  be  mad,  if  it  were  not  that  there  are 
so  many  of  them ; for  only  their  number  is  their  justification 
ind  their  protection.” 

When  he  comes  to  reflect,  says  St.  Augustine,  upon  tnose 
passages  which  he  himself  had  seen  in  the  Capitol,  he  cen- 
sures them  with  liberty  and  resolution ; and  no  man  will 
believe  that  such  things  would  be  done  unless  in  mockery  or 
frenzy.  What  lamentation  is  there  in  the  Egyptian  sacri- 
fices for  the  loss  of  Osiris  1 and  then  what  joy  for  the  find- 
ing of  him  again  1 Which  he  makes  himself  sport  with ; for 
»n  truth  it  is  all  a fiction ; and  yet  those  people  that  neither 
lost  any  thing  nor  found  any  thing,  must  express  their  sor- 
rows and  their  rejoicings  to  the  highest  degree.  “ But  there 
is  only  a certain  time,”  says  he,  “for  this  freak,  and  once 
a year  people  may  be  allowed  to  be  mad.  I came  into 
the  Capitol,”  says  Seneca,  “ where  the  several  deities  had 
their  several  servants  and  attendants,  their  lictors,  their 
dressers,  and  all  in  posture  and  action,  as  if  they  were  exe- 
cuting their  offices ; some  to  hold  the  glass,  others  to  comb 
out  Juno’s  and  Minerva’s  hair ; one  to  tell  Jupiter  what 
o’clock  it  is ; some  lasses  there  are  that  sit  gazing  upon  the 
image,  and  fancy  Jupiter  has  a kindness  for  them.  All  these 
things,”  says  Seneca,  a while  after,  “ a wise  man  will  ob- 
serve for  the  law’s  sake  more  than  for  the  gods ; and  all  this 
rabble  of  deities,  which  the  superstition  of  many  ages  has 
gathered  together,  we  are  in  such  manner  to  adore,  as  to 
consider  the  worship  to  be  rather  matter  of  custom  than  of 
conscience.”  Whereupon  St.  Augustine  observes,  that  this 
llustriou?  senator  worsi;ipp)ed  what  he  reproved,  acted  what 
dlslik°d,  and  adc’-ed  what  he  ccndcraned. 


SENECA’S  LIFE  AND  DEATH. 


IT  has  been  an  ancient  custom  to  record  the  actions  and 
the  writings  of  eminent  men,  with  all  their  circumstances 
and  it  is  but  a right  that  we  owe  to  the  memory  of  our 
famous  author.  Seneca  was  by  birth  a Spaniard  of  Cordova, 
(a  Roman  colony  of  great  fame  and  antiquity.)  He  was  of 
the  family  of  Annceus,  of  the  order  of  knights;  and  the 
father,  Lucius  Annasus  Seneca,  was  distinguished  from  the 
son,  by  the  name  of  the  Orator.  His  mother’s  name  was 
Helvia,  a woman  of  excellent  qualities.  His  father  came 
to  Rome  in  the  time  of  Augustus,  and  his  wife  and  children 
soon  followed  him,  our  Seneca  yet  being  in  his  infancy. 
There  were  three  brothers  of  them,  and  never  a sister. 
Marcus  Annseus  Novatus,  Lucius  Annaeus  Seneca,  and  Lu- 
cius Annaeus  Mela : the  first  of  these  changed  his  name  for 
Junius  Gallio,  who  adopted  him;  to  him  it  was  that  he 
dedicated  his  treatise  of  Anger,  whom  he  calls  Novatus 
too;  and  he  also  dedicated  his  discourse  of  a Happy  Life 
to  his  brother  Gallio.  The  youngest  brother  (Annaeus 
Mela)  was  Lucan’s  father.  Seneca  was  about  twenty  years 
of  age  in  the  fifth  year  of  Tiberius,  when  the  Jews  weie 
expelled  Rome.  His  father  trained  him  up  to  rhetoric,  but 
his  genius  led  him  ratlier  to  philosophy : and  he  applied  his 
wit  to  morality  and  virtue.  He  was  a great  hearer  of  the 
celebrated  men  of  those  times;  as  Attalus,  Sotion,  Papirius, 
Fabianus,  (of  whom  he  makes  often  mention)  and  he  was 
much  an  admirer  also  of  Demetrius  the  Cynic,  whose  con- 
versation he  had  afterwards  in  the  Court,  and  both  at  home 
also  and  abroad,  for  they  often  travelled  together.  His 
father  was  not  at  all  pleased  with  his  humor  of  philosophy, 
but  forced  him  upon  tlie  law,  and  for  a while  he  practised 
pleading.  After  which  he  would  needs  put  him  upon  public 
employment : and  he  came  first  to  be  quwslor,  then  pralor, 
and  some  will  have  it  that  he  was  chosen  consul:  but  this 
is  doubtful. 

Seneca  finding  tl/at  he  had  ill  offices  done  him  at  court, 
and  that  Nero’s  favor  began  to  cool,  he  went  directly  and 
resolutely  to  Nero,  with  an  offer  to  refund  all  that  he  had 


SENECA  S LIFE  AND  DEATH. 


gotten,  which  Nero  would  not  receive ; but  however,  from 
that  time  he  changed  his  course  of  life,  received  few  visits, 
shunned  company,  went  little  abroad : still  pretending  to 
be  kept  at  home,  either  by  indisposition  or  by  his  study. 
Being  Nero’s  tutor  and  governor,  all  things  were  well  so 
long  as  Nero  followed  his  counsel.  His  two  chief  favorites 
were  Burrhus  and  Seneca,  who  were  both  of  them  excel- 
lent in  tlieir  ways:  Burrhus,  in  his  care  of  TTu'Zi/ary  affairs, 
and  severity  of  discipline ; Seneca  for  his  precepts  and 
good  advice  in  the  matter  of  eloquence,  and  the  gentleness 
of  an  honest  mind:  assisting  one  another,  in  that  slippery 
age  of  the  prince  (says  Tacitus)  to  invite  him,  by  the  al- 
lowance of  lawful  pleasures,  to  the  love  of  virtue.  Seneca 
had  two  wives;  the  name  of  the  first  is  not  mentioned ; his 
second  was  Paulina,  whom  he  often  speaks  of  with  great 
passion.  By  the  former  he  had  his  son  Marcus. 

In  the  first  year  of  Claudius  he  was  banished  into  Corsi- 
ca, when  Julia,  the  daughter  of  Germanicus,  was  accused 
by  Messalina  of  adultery  and  banished  too,  Seneca  being 
charged  as  one  of  the  adulterers.  After  a matter  of  eight 
years  or  upwards  in  exile,  he  was  called  back,  and  as  much 
in  favor  again  as  ever.  His  estate  was  partly  patrimonial, 
but  the  greatest  part  of  it  was  the  bounty  of  his  prince. 
His  gardens,  villas,  lands,  possessions,  and  incredible  sums 
of  money,  are  agreed  upon  at  all  hands ; which  drew  an 
envy  upon  him.  Dio  reports  him  to  have  had  250,000?. 
sterling  at  interest  in  Britanny  alone,  which  he  called  in 
all  at  a sum.  The  Court  itself  could  not  bring  him  to  flat- 
tery ; and  for  Ins  piety,  submission,  and  virtue,  Tne  practice 
of  his  whole  life  witnesses  for  him.  “So 
soon,”  says  he,  “ as  the  candle  is  taken  away,  ® 
my  wife,  that  knows  my  custom,  lies  still,  without  a word 
speaking : and  then  do  I recollect  all  that  I have  said  or 
done  that  day,  and  take  myself  to  shrift.  And  why  should 
conceal  or  reserve  any  thing,  or  make  any  scruple  of  in- 
uiring  into  my  errors,  when  I can  say  to  myself.  Do  so  no 
more,  and  for  this  once  I will  forgive  thee  V'  And  again, 
what  can  be  more  pious  and  self-denying  than  this  passage, 
in  one  of  his  epistles'!  “Believe  me  now, 
when  I tell  you  the  very  bottom  of  my  soul : 
in  all  the  difficulties  and  crosses  of  my  life,  this  is  my  con- 
sideration ; since  it  is  God’s  will,  1 do  not  only  obey,  but 
assent  to  it ; nor  do  I comply  out  of  necessity,  but  inclina 
tion.” 


B 


xiv  Seneca’s  life  and  death. 

“ Here  follows  now,”  says  Tacitus,  “ the  death  of  Seneca, 
to  Nero’s  great  satisfaction : not  so  much  for  any  pregnant 
proof  against  him  that  he  was  of  Piso’s  conspiracy ; hut 
Nero  was  resolved  to  do  that  by  the  sword  which  he  could 
not  effect  by  poison.  For  it  is  reported,  that  Nero  had  cor- 
rupted Cleonicus  (a  freeman  of  Seneca’s)  to  give  his  master 
poison,  which  did  not  succeed : whether  that  the  servant 
had  discovered  it  to  his  master,  or  that  Seneca,  by  his  own 
caution  and  jealousy,  had  avoided  it;  for  he  lived  only  upon 
a simple  diet,  as  the  fruits  of  the  earth,  and  his  drink  was 
most  commonly  river  water. 

“ Natalis,  it  seems,  was  sent  upon  a visit  to  him  (being 
indisposed)  with  a complaint  that  he  would  not  let  Piso 
come  at  him;  and  advising  him  to  the  continuance  of  their 
friendship  and  acquaintance  as  formerly.  To  whom  Seneca 
made  answer,  that  frequent  meetings  and  conferences  be- 
twixt them  could  do  neither  of  them  any  good ; but  that 
he  had  a great  interest  in  Piso’s  welfare.  Hereupon  Gra- 
nins Silvanus  (a  captain  of  the  guard)  was  sent  to  examine 
Seneca  upon  the  discourse  that  passed  betwixt  him  and 
Natalis,  and  to  return  his  answer.  Seneca,  either  by  chance 
or  upon  purpose,  came  that  day  from  Campania,  to  a villa 
of  his  own,  within  four  miles  of  the  city;  and  thither  the 
officer  went  the  next  evening,  and  beset  the  place.  He 
found  Seneca  at  supper  with  his  wife  Paulina,  and  two  of 
his  friends;  and  gave  him  immediately  an  account  of  his 
commission.  Seneca  told  him,  that  it  was  true  that  Natalis 
had  been  with  him  in  Piso’s  name,  with  a complaint  that 
Piso  could  not  he  admitted  to  see  him ; and  that  he  excused 
himself  by  reason  of  his  want  of  health,  and  his  desires  to 
he  quiet  and  private ; and  that  he  had  no  reason  to  prefer 
another  man’s  welfare  before  his  own.  Caesar  himself,  he 
said,  knew  very  well  that  he  was  not  a man  of  compliment, 
having  received  more  proofs  of  his  freedom  than  of  his 
flattery.  This  answer  of  Seneca’s  was  delivered  to  Caesar 
in  the  presence  of  Popaea  and  Tigellinus,  the  intimate  confi- 
dants of  this  barbarous  prince : and  Nero  asked  him  whether 
he  could  gather  any  thing  from  Seneca  as  if  he  intended  to 
make  himself  away?  The  tribune’s  answer  was,  that  he 
did  not  find  him  one  jot  moved  with  the  message : but  that 
he  went  on  roundly  with  his  tale,  and  never  so  much  as 
changed  countenance  for  the  matter.  Go  back  to  him  then, 
says  Nero,  and  tell  him,  that  he  is  condemned  to  die.  Fa- 
bius Rusticus  delivers  it,  that  the  tribune  did  not  return  the 


Seneca’s  life  and  death. 


XV 


same  way  he  came,  but  went  aside  to  Fenius  (a  captain  of 
that  name)  and  told  him  Csesar’s  orders,  asking  his  advice 
whether  he  should  obey  them  or  not;  who  bade  him  by  all 
means  to  do  as  he  was  ordered.  Which  want  of  resolution 
was  fatal  to  them  all ; for  Silvanus  also,  that  was  one  of 
the  conspirators,  assisted  now  to  serve  and  to  increase  those 
crimes,  which  he  had  before  complotted  to  revenge.  And 
yet  he  did  not  think  fit  to  appear  himself  in  the  business, 
but  sent  a centurion  to  Seneca  to  tell  him  his  doom.  Seneca, 
without  any  surprise  or  disorder,  calls  for  his  will ; which 
being  refused  him  by  the  officer,  he  turned  to  his  friends, 
and  told  them  that  since  he  was  not  permitted  to  requite 
them  as  they  deserved,  he  was  yet  at  liberty  to  bequeath 
them  the  thing  of  all  others  that  he  esteemed  the  most, 
that  is,  the  image  of  his  life ; which  should  give  them  the 
eputation  both  of  constancy  and  friendship,  if  they  would 
but  imitate  it ; exhorting  them  to  a firmness  of  mind,  some- 
times by  good  counsel,  otherwhile  by  reprehension,  as  the 
occasion  required.  Where,  says  he,  is  all  your  philosophy 
now?  all  yoor  premeditated  resolutions  against  the  violences 
of  Fortune  1 Is  there  any  man  so  ignorant  of  Nero’s  cruelty, 
as  to  expect,  after  the  murder  of  his  mother  and  his  brother, 
that  he  should  ever  spare  the  life  of  his  governor  and  tutorl 
After  some  general  expressions  to  this  purpose,  he  took  his 
wife  in  his  arms,  and  having  somewhat  fortified  her  against 
he  present  calamity,  he  besought  and  conjured  her  to  mod- 
erate her  sorrows,  and  betake  herself  to  the  contemplations 
and  comforts  of  a virtuous  life ; which  would  be  a fair  and 
an  ample  consolation  to  her  for  the  loss  of  her  husband. 
Paulina,  on  the  other  side,  tells  him  her  determination  to 
bear  him  company,  and  wills  the  executioner  to  do  his  office. 
Well,  says  Seneca,  if  after  the  sweetness  of  life,  as  I have 
represented  it  to  thee,  thou  hadst  rather  entertain  an  hon- 
orable death,  I shall  not  envy  thy  example;  consulting,  at- 
the  same  time,  the  fame  of  the  person  he  loved,  and  his 
own  tenderness,  for  fear  of  the  injuries  that  might  attend 
her  when  he  was  gone.  Our  resolution,  says  he,  in  this 
generous  act,  may  be  equal,  but  thine  will  be  the  greater 
reputation.  After  this  the  veins  of  both  their  arms  were 
opened  at  the  same  time.  Seneca  did  not  bleed  so  freely, 
his  spirits  being  wasted  with  age  and  a thin  diet;  so  that 
he  was  forced  to  cut  the  veins  of  his  thighs  and  elsewhere, 
to  hasten  his  dispatch.  When  he  was  far  spent,  and  almost 
sinking  under  his  torments,  he  desired  his  wife  to  remove 


xvi  Seneca’s  life  and  death. 

into  another  chamber,  lest  the  agonies  of  the  one  might 
work  upon  the  courage  of  the  other.  His  eloquence  con- 
tinued to  the  last,  as  appears  by  the  excellent  things  he  de- 
livered at  his  death ; which  being  taken  in  writing  from  his 
own  mouth,  and  published  in  his  own  words,  I shall  not 
presume  to  deliver  them  in  any  other.  Nero,  in  the  mean 
time,  who  had  no  particular  spite  to  Paulina,  gave  orders  to 
prevent  her  death,  for  fear  his  crvelty  should  grow  more 
and  more  insupportable  and  odious.  Whereupon  the  soldiers 
gave  all  freedom  and  encouragement  to  her  servants  to  bind 
up  her  wounds,  and  stop  the  blood,  which  they  did  accord- 
ingly; but  whether  she  was  sensible  of  it  or  not  is  a ques- 
tion. For  among  the  common  people,  who  are  apt  to  judge 
the  worst,  there  were  some  of  opinion,  that  as  long  as  she 
despaired  of  Nero’s  mercy,  she  seemed  to  court  the  glory 
of  dying  with  her  husband  for  company;  but  that  upon  the 
ikelihood  of  better  quarter  she  was  prevailed  upon  to  out- 
live him  ; and  so  for  some  years  she  did  survive  him,  with 
all  piety  and  respect  to  his  memory;  but  so  miserably  pale 
and  wan,  that  every  body  might  read  the  loss  of  her  blood 
and  spirits  in  her  very  countenance. 

“ Seneca  finding  his  death  slow  and  lingering,  desires 
Statius  Annaeus  (his  old  friend  and  physician)  to  give  him  a 
dose  of  poison,  which  he  had  provided  beforehand,  being  the 
same  preparation  which  was  appointed  for  capital  offenders 
in  Athens.  This  was  brought  him,  and  he  drank  it  up,  but 
to  little  purpose;  for  his  body  was  already  chilled,  and 
bound  up  against  the  force  of  it.  He  went  at  last  into  a 
hot  bath,  and  sprinkling  some  of  his  servants  that  were 
next  him,  this,  says  he,  is  an  oblation  to  Jupiter  the  deliverer. 
The  fume  of  the  bath,  soon  dispatched  him,  and  his  body  was 
burnt,  without  any  funeral  solemnity,  as  he  had  directed  in 
his  testament : though  this  will  of  his  was  made  in  the  height 
of  his  prosperity  and  power.  There  was  a rumor  that  Su- 
rius  Flavius,  in  a private  consultation  with  the  centurions, 
had  taken  up  this  following  resolution,  (and  that  Seneca 
himself  was  no  stranger  to  it)  that  is  to  say,  that  after  Nerc 
should  have  been  slain  by  the  help  of  Piso,Piso  himself  should 
have  been  killed  too;  and  the  empire  delivered  up  to  Seneca, 
as  one  that  well  deserved  it,  for  his  integrity  and  virtue.” 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


CHAP.  I. 

Of  Benefits  in  general. 

fT  is,  perhaps,  one  of  the  most  pernicious  errors  of  a rash 
and  inconsiderate  life,  the  common  ignorance  of  the  world 
m the  matter  of  exchanging  benefits.  And  this  arises  from 
a mistake,  partly  in  the  person  that  we  would  oblige,  and 
partly  in  the  thing  itself  To  begin  with  the  latter ; “ A 
benefit  is  a good  office,  done  with  intention  and  judgment;” 
that  is  to  say,  with  a due  regard  to  all  the  circumstances  of 
what,  how,  why,  when,  where,  to  whom,  how  much,  and  the 
like:  or  otherwise;  “It  is  a voluntary  and  benevolent  ac- 
tion, that  delights  the  giver  in  the  comfort  it  brings  to  the 
receiver.”  It  will  be  hard  to  draw  this  subject,  either  into 
method  or  compass : the  one,  because  of  the  infinite  variety 
and  complication  of  cases ; the  other,  by  reason  of  the  large 
extent  of  it:  for  the  whole  business  (almost)  of  mankind  in 
society  falls  under  this  head ; the  duties  of  kings  and  sub- 
jects, husbands  and  wives,  parents  and  children,  masters 
and  servants,  natives  and  strangers,  high  and  low,  rich  and 
poor,  strong  and  weak,  friends  and  enemies.  The  very 
meditation  of  it  breeds  good  blood  and  generous  thoughts ; 
and  instructs  us  in  all  the  parts  of  honor,  humanity,  friend- 
ship, piety,  gratitude,  prudence,  and  justice.  In  short,  the 
art  and  skill  of  conferring  benefits,  is,  of  all  human  duties, 
the  most  absolutely  necessary  to  the  well-being,  both  of 
reasonable  nature,  and  of  every  individual ; as  the  very  ce- 
ment of  all  communities,  and  the  blessing  of  particulars.  He 
that  does  good  to  another  man  does  good  also  to  himself ; not 
only  in  the  consequence,  but  in  the  very  act  of  doing  it : for 
the  conscience  of  well-doing  is  an  ample  reward. 

Of  benefits  in  general,  there  are  several  sorts ; as  neces- 
sary, profitable,  and  delightful.  Some  things  Benefits  neces- 
thereare,  without  which  we  cannot  live;  others  sary,  profitable, 
without  which  we  ought  not  to  live ; and  some,  ®‘'‘*  dei'ghtfui. 
again,  without  which  we  will  not  live.  In  the  first  rank 
are  those  which  deliver  us  from  capital  dangers,  or  appre- 
hensions of  death : and  the  favor  is  rated  according  to  the 
B 2 


18 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


hazard : for  the  greater  the  extremity,  the  greater  seems 
the  obligation.  The  next  is  a case  wherein  we  may  indeed 
live,  but  we  had  better  die:  as  in  the  question  of  liberty, 
modesty,  and  a good  conscience.  In  the  third  place,  follow 
those  things  w'hich  custom,  use,  affinity,  and  acquaintance, 
have  made  dear  to  us : as  husbands,  wives,  children,  friends, 
&c.  which  an  honest  man  will  preserve  at  his  utmost  peril. 
Of  things  profitable  there  is  a large  field,  as  money,  honor, 
&c.  to  which  might  be  added,  matters  of  superfluity  and 
pleasure.  But  we  shall  open  a way  to  the  circumstances 
of  a benefit  by  some  previous  and  more  general  delibera- 
tions upon  the  thing  itself. 


CHAP.  II. 

Several  sorts  of  Benefits. 

We  shall  divide  benefits  mlo  absolute  and  vulgar;  the 
one  appertaining  to  good  life,  the  other  is  only  matter  of 
Benefits  abso-  commerce.  The  former  are  the  more  excellent, 
lute  and  vui-  because  they  can  never  be  made  void ; where- 
as  all  material  benefits  are  tossed  back  and 
forward,  and  change  their  master.  There  are  some  offices 
that  look  like  benefits,  but  are  only  desirable  conveniences, 
as  wealth,  &c.  and  these  a wicked  man  may  receive  from  a 
good,  or  a good  man  from  an  evil.  Others,  again,  that  bear 
the  face  of  injuries,  which  are  only  benefits  ill  taken ; as 
cutting,  lancing,  burning,  under  the  hand  of  a surgeon.  The 
greatest  benefits  of  all  are  those  of  good  education,  which 
we  receive  from  our  parents,  either  in  the  state  of  igno- 
rance or  perverseness;  as,  their  care  and  tenderness  in  our 
infancy;  their  discipline  in  our  childhood,  to  keep  us  to  our 
duties  by  fear;  and,  if  fair  means  will  not  do,  their  proceed- 
ing afterwards  to  severity  and  punishment,  without  which 
we  should  never  have  come  to  good.  There  are  matters  of 
great  value,  many  times,  that  are  but  of  small  price;  as  in- 
structions from  a tutor,  medicine  from  a physician,  &c. 
\nd  there  are  small  matters  again,  which  are  of  great  con- 
sideration to  us;  the  gift  is  small,  and  the  consequence 
great ; as  a cup  of  cold  water  in  a time  of  need  may  save  a. 
man’s  life.  Some  things  are  of  great  moment  to  the  give:, 
others  to  the  receiver : one  man  gives  me  a house ; another 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


10 


snatches  me  out  when  it  is  falling  upon  my  head : one  gives 
me  an  estate ; another  takes  me  out  of  the  fire,  or  casts  me 
out  a rope  when  I am  sinking.  Some  good  offices  we  do  to 
friends,  others  to  strangers : but  those  are  the  noblest  that 
we  do  without  pre-desert.  There  is  an  obligation  of  bounty, 
and  an  obligation  of  charity ; this  in  case  of  necessity,  and 
that  in  point  of  convenience.  Some  benefits  are  common, 
others  are  personal ; as  if  a prince  (out  of  pure  grace)  grant 
a privilege  to  a city,  the  obligation  lies  upon  the  community, 
and  only  upon  every  individual  as  a part  of  the  whole ; but 
if  it  be  done  particularly  for  my  sake,  then  am  I singly  the 
debtor  for  it.  The  cherishing  of  strangers  is  one  of  the  du- 
ties of  hospitality,  and  exercises  itself  in  the  relief  and  pro- 
tection of  the  distressed.  There  are  benefits  of  good  coun- 
sel, reputation,  life,  fortune,  liberty,  health,  nay,  and  of  su- 
perfluity and  pleasure.  One  man  obliges  me  out  of  his 
pocket ; another  gives  me  matter  of  ornament  and  curiosity ; 
a third,  consolation.  To  say  nothing  of  negative  benefits ; 
for  there  are  that  reckon  it  an  obligation  if  they  do  a body 
no  hurt ; and  place  it  to  account,  as  if  they  saved  a man, 
when  they  do  not  undo  him.  To  shut  up  all  in  one  word  ; 
as  benevolence  is  the  most  sociable  of  all  virtues,  so  it  is  of 
the  largest  extent ; for  there  is  not  any  man,  either  so  great 
or  so  little,  but  he  is  yet  capable  of  giving  and  of  receiving 
benefits. 


CHAP.  III. 

A son  may  oblige  Ms  father,  and  a servant  his  master. 

The  question  is  (in  the  first  place)  whether  it  may  not  be 
possible  for  a father  to  owe  more  to  a son,  in  other  respects, 
than  the  son  owes  to  his  father  for  his  being!  That  many 
sons  arc  both  greater  and  better  than  their  fathers,  there  is 
no  question ; as  there  are  many  other  things  that  derive 
their  beings  from  others,  which  yet  are  far  greater  than 
iheir  original.  Is  not  the  free  larger  than  the  seed  1 the 
river  than  the  fountain  1 The  foundation  of  all  things  lies 
hid,  and  the  superstructure  obscures  it.  If  I owe  all  to  my 
father,  because  he  gives  me  life,  I may  owe  as  much  to  a 
physician  that  saved  his  life ; for  if  my  father  had  not  been 
cured,  I had  never  been  begotten  : or,  if  I stand  indebted 


20 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


for  all  that  I am  to  my  beginning',  my  ackncwledgmen 
must  run  back  to  the  very  original  of  all  human  beings. 
My  father  gave  me  the  benefit  of  life:  which  he  had  never 
done,  if  his  father  had  not  first  given  it  to  him.  He  gave 
me  life,  not  knowing  to  whom;  and  when  1 was  in  a con- 
dition neither  to  feel  death  nor  to  fear  it.  That  is  the  great 
benefit,  to  .give  life  to  one  that  knows  how  to  use  it,  and  that 
is  capable  of  the  apprehension  of  death.  It  is  true,  that 
without  a father  I could  never  have  had  a being ; and  so, 
without  a nurse,  that  being  had  never  been  improved  : but 
I do  not  therefore  owe  my  virtue  either  to  my  nativity  or 
to  her  that  gave  me  suck.  The  generation  of  me  was  the 
least  part  of  the  benefit : for  to  live  is  common  with  brutes ; 
but  to  live  well  is  the  main  business;  and  that  virtue  is  all 
my  own,  saving  what  I drew  from  my  education.  It  does 
not  follow  that  the  first  benefit  must  be  the  greatest,  because 
without  the  first  the  greatest  could  never  have  been.  The 
father  gives  life  to  the  son  but  once ; but  if  the  son  save  the 
father's  life  often,  though  he  do  but  his  duty,  it  is  yet  a 
greater  benefit.  And  again,  the  benefit  that  a man  receives 
is  the  greater,  the  more  he  needs  it ; but  the  living  has 
more  need  of  life  than  he  that  is  not  yet  born ; so  that  the 
father  receives  a greater  benefit  in  the  continuance  of  his 
life  than  the  son  in  the  beginning  of  it.  What  if  a son  de- 
liver his  father  from  the  rack;  or,  which  is  more,  lay  him- 
self down  in  his  place  1 The  giving  of  him  a being  was  but 
the  office  of  a father ; a simple  act,  a benefit  given  at  a ven- 
ture : beside  that,  he  had  a participant  in  it,  and  a regard 
to  his  family.  He  gave  only  a single  life,  and  he  received 
a happy  one.  My  mother  brought  me  into  the  world  naked, 
exposed,  and  void  of  reason  ; but  my  reputation  and  my  for- 
tune are  advanced  by  my  virtue.  Scipio  (as  yet  in  his  mi- 
nority) rescued  his  father  in  a battle  with  Hannibal,  and  af 
terward  from  the  practices  and  persecution  of  a powerful 
faction  ; covering  him  with  consulary  honors,  and  the  spoils 
of  public  enemies.  He  made  himself  as  eminent  for  his 
moderation  as  for  his  piety  and  military  knowledge : he  was 
the  defender  and  the  establisher  of  his  country  : he  left  the 
empire  without  a competitor,  and  made  himself  as  well  the 
ornament  of  Rome  as  the  security  of  it : and  did  not  Scipio, 
in  all  this,  more  than  requite  his  father  barely  for  begetting 
of  him  1 Whether  did  Anchises  more  for  Aeneas,  in  dandling 
the  child  in  his  arms;  or  Aeneas  for  his  father,  when  he 
carried  him  upon  his  back  through  the  flames  of  Troy,  and 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


21 


made  his  name  famons  to  future  ages  among  the  founders 
of  the  Roman  Empire"!  T.  Manlius  was  the  son  of  a sour 
and  imperious  father,  who  banished  him  his  house  as  a 
blockhead,  and  a scandal  to  the  family.  This  Manlius,  hear- 
ing that  his  father’s  life  was  in  question,  and  a day  set  for 
nis  trial,  went  to  the  tribune  that  was  concerned  in  his 
cause,  and  discoursed  with  him  about  it:  the  tribune  told  him 
the  appointed  time,  and  withal  (as  an  obligation  upon  the 
young  man)  that  his  cruelty  to  his  son  would  be  part  of  his 
accusation.  Manlius,  upon  this,  takes  the  tribune  aside, 
and  presenting  a poniard  to  his  breast,  “ Swear,”  says  he, 
“ that  you  will  let  this  cause  fall,  or  you  shall  have  this 
dagger  in  the  heart  of  you ; and  now  it  is  at  your  choice 
which  way  you  will  deliver  my  father.”  The  tribune  swore 
and  kept  his  word,  and  made  a fair  report  of  the  whole 
matter  to  the  council.  He  that  makes  himself  famous  by 
his  eloquence,  justice,  or  arms,  illustrates  his  extraction,  let 
it  be  never  so  mean  ; and  gives  inestimable  reputation  to 
his  parents.  We  should  never  have  heard  of  Sophroniscus, 
but  for  his  son  Socrates  ; nor  of  Aristo  and  Gryllus,  if  it 
had  not  been  for  Xenophon  and  Plato. 

This  is  not  to  discountenance  the  veneration  we  owe  to 
parents;  nor  to  make  children  the  worse,  but  the  better; 
and  to  stir  up  generous  emulations:  for,  in  contests  of  good 
offices,  both  parties  are  happy ; as  well  the  vanquished  as 
those  that  overcome.  It  is  the  only  honorable  dispute  that 
can  arise  betwixt  a father  and  a son,  which  of  the  two  shall 
have  the  better  of  the  other  in  the  point  of  benefits. 

In  the  question  betwixt  a master  and  a servant,  we  must 
distinguish  betwixt  benefits,  duties,  and  ac-  ^ servant  may 
tions  ministerial.  By  benefits,  we  understand  oblige  his  mas- 
those  good  offices  that  we  receive  from  stran- 
gers,  which  are  voluntary,  and  may  ,be  forborne  without 
olame.  Duties  are  the  parts  of  a son  and  wife,  and  incum- 
bent upon  kindred  and  relations.  Offices  ministerial  belong 
to  the  part  of  a servant.  Now,  since  it  is  the  mind,  and 
not  the  condition  of  a person,  that  prints  the  value  upon 
the  benefit,  a servant  may  oblige  his  master,  and  so  may  a 
subject  his  sovereign,  or  a common  soldier  his  general,  by 
doing  more  than  he  is  expressly  bound  to  do.  Some  things 
there  are,  which  the  law  neither  commands  nor  forbids ; 
and  here  the  servant  is  free.  It  would  be  very  hard  for  a 
servant  to  be  chastised  for  doing  less  than  his  duty,  and  not 


22 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


thanked  for  it  when  he  does  more.  His  body,  it  is  true,  is 
his  master’s,  but  his  mind  is  his  own : and  there  are  many 
commands  which  a servant  ought  no  more  to  obey  than  a 
master  to  impose.  There  is  no  man  so  great,  but  he  may 
both  need  the  help  and  service,  and  stand  in  fear  of  the 
power  and  unkindness,  even  of  the  meanest  of  mortals. 
One  servant  kills  his  master;  another  saves  him,  nay,  pre- 
serves his  master’s  life,  perhaps,  with  the  loss  of  his  own: 
he  exposes  himself  to  torment  and  death ; he  stands  firm 
against  all  threats  and  batteries : which  is  not  only  a benefit 
in  a servant,  but  much  the  greater  for  his  being  so. 

When  Domitius  was  besieged  in  Corfinium,  and  the  place 
brought  to  great  extremity,  he  pressed  his  servant  so  earn- 
estly to  poison  him,  that  at  last  he  was  prevailed  upon  to 
give  him  a potion ; which,  it  seems,  was  an  innocent  opiate, 
and  Domitius  outlived  it : C®sar  took  the  town,  and  gave 
Domitius  his  life,  but  it  was  his  servant  that  gave  it  him  first. 

There  was  another  town  besieged,  and  when  it  was  upon 
the  last  pinch,  two  servants  made  their  escape,  and  went 
over  to  the  enemy : upon  the  Romans  entering  the  town, 
and  in  the  heat  of  the  soldiers’  fury,  these  two  fellows  ran 
directly  home,  took  their  mistress  out  of  her  house,  and 
drave  her  before  them,  telling  every  body  how  barbarously 
she  had  used  them  formerly,  and  that  they  would  now  have 
their  revenge ; when  they  had  her  without  the  gates,  they 
kept  her  close  till  the  danger  was  over;  by  which  means 
they  gave  their  mistress  her  life,  and  she  gave  them  their 
freedom.  This  was  not  the  action  of  a servile  mind,  to  do 
so  glorious  a thing,  under  an  appearance  of  so  great  a vil- 
lany ; for  if  they  had  not  passed  for  deserters  and  parricides, 
they  could  not  have  gained  their  end. 

With  one  instance  more  (and  that  a very  brave  one)  I 
shall  conclude  this  chapter. 

In  the  civil  wars  of  Rome,  a party  coming  to  search  for 
a person  of  quality  that  was  proscribed,  a servant  put  on 
his  master’s  clothes,  and  delivered  himself  up  to  the  soldiers 
as  the  master  of  the  house ; he  was  taken  into  custody,  and 
put  to  death,  without  discovering  the  mistake.  What  could 
be  more  glorious,  than  for  a servant  to  die  for  his  master,  in 
that  age,  when  there  were  not  many  servants  that  would 
not  betray  their  masters'!  So  generous  a tenderness  in  a 
public  cruelty;  so  invincible  a faith  in  a general  corruption; 
what  could  be  more  glorious,  I say,  than  so  exalted  a virtue. 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


as  rather  to  choose  death  for  the  reward  of  his  fidelity,  tlian 
the  greatest  advantages  he  might  otherwise  have  had  fot 
the  violation  of  it! 


CHAP.  IV. 

It  is  the  intention,  not  the  matter,  that  makes  the  benefit. 

The  good-will  of  the  benefactor  is  the  fountain  of  all 
benefits;  nay,  it  is  the  benefit  itself,  or,  at  least,  the  stamp 
that  makes  it  valuable  and  current.  Some  there  are,  I 
know,  that  take  the  matter  for  the  benefit,  and  tax  the  ob- 
ligation by  weight  and  measure.  When  any  thing  is  given 
them,  they  presently  cast  it  up;  “What  may  such  a house 
be  worth  ] such  an  office  1 such  an  estate  1”  as  if  that  were 
the  benefit  which  is  only  the  sign  and  mark  of  it : for  the 
obligation  rests  in  the  mind,  not  in  the  matter ; and  all  those 
advantages  which  we  see,  handle,  or  hold  in  actual  posses- 
sion by  the  courtesy  of  another,  are  but  several  modes  or 
ways  of  explaining  and  putting  the  good-will  in  execution. 
1'here  needs  no  great  subtlety  to  prove,  that  both  benefits 
and  injuries  receive  their  value  from  the  intention,  when 
even  brutes  themselves  are  able  to  decide  this  question. 
Tread  upon  a dog  by  chance,  or  put  him  to  pain  upon  the 
dressing  of  a wound ; the  one  he  passes  by  as  an  accident ; 
and  the  other,  in  his  fashion,  he  acknowledges  as  a kind- 
ness; but,  offer  to  strike  at  him,  though  you  do  him  no  hurt 
at  all,  he  flies  yet  in  the  face  of  you,  even  for  the  mischief 
that  you  barely  meant  him. 

It  is  further  to  be  observed,  that  all  benefits  are  good ; 
and  (like  the  distributions  of  Providence)  made  aii  benefits 
up  of  wisdom  and  bounty ; whereas  the  gift  good, 
itself  is  neither  good  nor  bad,  but  may  indifferently  be  ap- 
plied, either  to  the  one  or  to  the  other.  The  benefit  is 
immortal,  the  gift  perishable : for  the  benefit  itself  continues 
when  we  have  no  longer  either  the  use  or  the  matter  of  it 
He  that  is  dead  was  alive ; he  that  hath  lost  his  eyes,  did 
see ; and,  whatsoever  is  done,  cannot  be  rendered  undone. 
My  friend  (for  instance)  is  taken  by  pirates;  I redeem  him ; 
and  after  that  he  falls  into  other  pirates’  hands ; his  obliga- 
tion to  me  is  the  same  still  as  if  he  had  preserved  his  free- 
dom. And  so,  if  I save  a man  from  any  misfortune,  and  ha 


24 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


falls  into  another;  if  I give  him  a sum  of  money,  w'hich  is 
afterwards  taken  away  by  thieves ; it  comes  to  the  same 
case.  Fortune  may  deprive  us  of  the  matter  of  a benefit, 
out  the  benefit  itself  remains  inviolable.  If  the  benefit  re- 
sided in  the  matter,  that  which  is  gootl  for  one  man  would 
be  so  for  another ; whereas  many  times  the  very  same  thing, 
given  to  several  persons,  works  contrary  effects,  even  to 
the  difference  of  life  or  death ; and  that  which  is  one  body’s 
cure  proves  another  body’s  poison.  Beside  that,  the  timing 
of  it  alters  the  value  ; and  a crust  of  bread,  upon  a pinch, 
is  a greater  present  than  an  imperial  crown.  What  is 
more  familiar  than  in  a battle  to  shoot  at  an  enemy  and 
kill  a friend!  or,  instead  of  a friend,  to  save  an  enemy! 
But  yet  this  disappointment,  in  the  event,  does  not  at  all 
operate  upon  the  intention.  What  if  a man  cures  me  of  a- 
wen  with  a stroke  that  was  designed  to  cut  off  my  head  ! 
or,  with  a malicious  blow  upon  my  stomach,  breaks  an  im- 
posthume!  or,  what  if  he  saves  my  life  with  a draught  that 
was  prepared  to  poison  me ! The  providence  of  the  issue 
does  not  at  all  discharge  the  obliquity  of  the  intent.  And 
the  same  reason  holds  good  even  in  relfl'ion  itself.  It  is 
not  the  incense,  or  the  offering,  that  is  acceptable  to  God. 
but  the  purity  and  devotion  of  the  worshipper  : neither  is 
the  bare  will,  without  action,  sufficient,  that  is,  where  we 
have  the  means  of  acting ; for,  in  that  case,  it  signifies  as 
little  to  wish  well,  without  well-doing,  as  to  do  good  with- 
out willing  it.  There  must  be  effect  as  well  as  intention, 
to  make  me  owe  a benefit;  but,  to  will  against  it,  does 
wholly  discharge  it.  In  fine,  the  conscience  alone  is  the 
judge,  both  of  benefits  and  injuries. 

It  does  not  follow  now,  because  the  benefit  rests  in  the 
The  good-will  g'ood-will,  that  therefore  the  good-will  should 
must  te  accom-  be  always  a benefit ; for  if  it  be  not  accom- 
panied with  panied  with  government  and  discretion,  those 
ju  gment.  which  we  call  benefits,  are  but  the 

works  of  passion,  or  of  chance ; and  many  times,  the  great- 
est of  all  injuries.  One  man  does  me  good  by  mistake ; 
another  ignorantly ; a third  upon  force:  but  none  of  these 
cases  do  I take  to  be  an  obligation ; for  they  were  neither 
directed  to  me,  nor  was  there  any  kindness  of  intention  : 
we  do  not  thank  the  seas  for  the  advantages  we  receive  by 
navigation;  or  tne  rivers  for  supplying  us  with  fish  and 
flowing  of  our  grounds;  we  do  not  thank  the  trees  either 
for  their  fruits  or  shades,  or  the  winds  for  a fair  gale ; and 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


25 


what  IS  the  difference  betwixt  a reasonable  creature  that 
does  not  know  and  an  inanimate  that  cannot]  A good  horse 
saves  one  man’s  life  ; a good  suit  of  arms  another’s ; and  a 
man,  perhaps,  that  never  intended  it,  saves  a third.  Where 
is  the  difference  now  betwixt  the  obligation  of  one  and  of 
the  other]  A man  falls  into  a river,  and  the  fright  cures 
him  of  the  ague;  we  may  call  this  a kind  of  lucky  mis- 
chance, but  not  a remedy.  And  so  it  is  with  the  good  we 
receive,  either  without,  or  beside,  or  contrary  to  intention 
It  is  the  mind,  and  not  the  event,  that  distinguishes  a benefii 
from  an  injury. 


CHAP.  V. 

There  must  be  judgment  in  a benefit,  as  well  as  matter  and 

intention  ; and  especially  in  the  choice  of  the  person. 

As  it  is  the  will  that  designs  the  benefit,  and  the  matter 
that  conveys  it,  so  it  is  the  judgment  that  perfects  it;  which 
depends  upon  so  many  critical  niceties,  that  the  least  error, 
either  in  the  person,  the  matter,  tlie  manner,  the  quality, 
the  quantity,  the  time,  or  the  place,  spoils  all. 

The  consideration  of  the  person  is  a main  point : for  we 
are  to  give  by  choice,  and  not  by  hazard.  My  xhe  choice  of 
inclination  bids  me  oblige  one  man ; I am  the  person  is  a 
bound  in  duty  and  justice  to  serve  another;  point, 

here  it  is  a charity,  there  it  is  pity ; and  elsewhere,  per- 
haps, encouragement.  There  are  some  that  want,  to  whom 
I would  not  give;  because,  if  I did,  they  would  want  still. 
To  one  man  I would  barely  offer  a benefit ; but  I would 
press  it  upon  another.  To  say  the  truth,  we  do  not  employ 
any  money  to  more  profit  than  that  which  we  bestow;  and 
it  is  not  to  our  friends,  our  acquaintances  or  countrymen, 
nor  to  this  or  that  condition  of  men,  that  we  are  to  restrain 
our  bounties ; but  wheresoever  there  is  a man,  there  is  a 
place  and  occasion  for  a benefit.  We  give  to  sorhe  that 
are  good  already ; to  others,  in  hope  to  make  them  so : but 
we  must  do  all  with  discretion ; for  we  are  as  well  answer- 
able  for  what  we  give  as  for  what  we  receive;  nay,  the 
misplacing  of  a benefit  is  worse  than  the  not  receiving  of 
it ; for  the  one  is  another  man’s  fault ; but  the  other  is  mine. 
The  error  of  the  giver  does  oft-times  excuse  the  ingratitude 


26 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


of  the  receiver : for  a favor  ill-placed  is  rather  a profusior 
than  a benefit.  It  is  the  most  shameful  of  losses,  an  incon- 
siderate bounty.  I vvill  choose  a man  of  integrity,  sincere, 
consiilerate,  grateful,  temperate,  well-natured,  neither  cov- 
etous nor  sordid:  and  when  I have  obliged  such  a man, 
though  not  worth  a groat  in  the  world,  I have  gained  my 
end.  If  we  give  only  to  receive,  we  lose  the  fairest  objects 
for  our  charity ; the  absent,  the  sick,  the  captive,  and  the 
needy.  When  we  oblige  those  that  can  never  pay  us  again 
in  kind,  as  a stranger  upon  his  last  farewell,  or  a necessitous 
person  upon  his  death-bed,  we  make  Providence  our  debtor, 
and  rejoice  in  the  conscience  even  of  a fruitless  benefit.  So 
long  as  we  are  affected  with  passions,  and  distracted  with 
hopes  and  fears,  and  (the  most  unmanly  of  vices)  with  our 
pleasures,  we  are  incompetent  judges  where  to  place  our 
bounties : but  when  death  presents  itself,  and  that  we  come 
to  our  last  will  and  testament,  we  leave  our  fortunes  to  the 
most  worthy.  He  that  gives  nothing,  but  in  hopes  of  re- 
ceiving, must  die  intestate.  It  is  the  honesty  of  another 
man’s  mind  that  moves  the  kindness  of  mine;  and  1 would 
sooner  oblige  a grateful  man  than  an  ungrateful : but  this 
shall  not  hinder  me  from  doing  good  also  to  a person  that  is 
known  to  be  ungrateful : only  with  this  difference,  that  I 
will  serve  the  one  in  all  extremities  with  my  life  and  for- 
tune, and  the  other  no  farther  than  stands  with  my  conve- 
nience. But  what  shall  I do,  you  will  say,  to  know  whether 
a man  will  be  grateful  or  not ! I will  follow  probability,  and 
hope  the  best.  He  that  sows  is  not  sure  to  reap ; nor  the 
seaman  to  reach  his  port;  nor  the  soldier  to  win  the  field: 
he  that  weds  is  not  sure  his  wife  shall  be  honest,  or  his 
children  dutiful:  but  shall  we  therefore  neither  sow,  sail, 
bear  arms,  nor  marry  1 Nay,  if  I knew  a man  to  be  incura- 
bly thankless,  I would  yet  be  so  kind  as  to  put  him  in  his 
way,  or  let  him  light  a candle  at  mine,  or  draw  water  at 
my  well;  which  may  stand  him  perhaps  in  great  stead,  and 

i'et  not  be  reckoned  as  a benefit  from  me ; for  I do  it  care- 
essly,  and  not  for  his  sake,  but  my  own ; as  an  office  of 
iinmanity,  without  any  choice  or  kindness. 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


27 


CHAP.  VI. 

The  mailer  of  Obligalions,  wilh  ils  circumslanc.es. 

Next  to  the  choice  of  the  person  follows  that  of  the  maU 
ter ; wherein  a regard  must  be  had  to  time,  place,  propor- 
tion, quality ; and  to  the  very  nicks  of  opportunity  and  hu- 
mor. One  man  values  his  peace  above  his  honor,  another 
his  honor  above  his  safety;  and  not  a few  there  are  that 
(provided  they  may  save  their  bodies)  never  care  what  be- 
comes of  their  souls.  So  that  good  offices  depend  much 
upon  construction.  Some  take  themselves  to  be  obliged, 
when  they  are  not;  others  will  not  believe  it,  when  they, 
are ; and  some  again  take  obligations  and  injuries,  the  one 
for  the  other. 

For  our  better  direction,  let  it  be  noted,  “ That  a benefit 
is  a common  tie  betwixt  the  giver  and  receiver,  , • 

with  respect  to  both : wherefore  it  must  be  common  tie 

accommodated  to  the  rules  of  discretion  ; for  all 
things  have  their  bounds  and  measures,  and  so  receiver, 
must  liberality  among  the  rest;  that  it  be  neither  too  much 
for  the  one  nor  too  little  for  the  other ; the  excess  being 
every  jot  as  bad  as  the  defect.  Alexander  bestowed  a city 
upon  one  of  his  favorites  ; who  modestly  excusing  himself, 
“That  it  was  too  much  for  him  to  receive.”  “Well,  but,” 
says  Alexander,  “ it  is  not  too  much  for  me  to  give.”  A 
haughty  certainly,  and  an  imprudent  speech  ; for  that  which 
was  not  fit  for  the  one  to  take  could  not  be  fit  for  the  other 
to  give.  It  passes  in  the  world  for  greatness  of  mind  to  be 
perpetually  giving  and  loading  of  people  with  bounties ; but 
it  is  one  thing  to  know  how  to  give,  and  another  thing  not 
to  know  how  to  keep.  Give  me  a heart  that  is  easy  and 
open,  but  I will  have  no  holes  in  it;  let  it  be  bountiful  with 
judgment,  but  I will  have  nothing  run  out  of  it  I know  not 
how.  How  much  greater  was  he  that  refused  the  city  than 
the  other  that  offered  it]  Some  men  throw  away  their 
money  as  if  they  were  angry  with  it,  which  is  the  error 
commonly  of  weak  minds  and  large  fortunes.  No  man  'es- 
teems of  any  thing  that  comes  to  him  by  chance ; but  wh-^n 
it  is  governed  by  reason,  it  brings  credit  both  to  the  gi^r»*» 
and  receiver  ; whereas  those  favois  are,  in  some  sort,  sca*- 
dalous,  that  make  a man  ashamed  of  his  patron. 


28 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


It  is  a matter  of  great  prudence,  for  the  benefactor  to  suit 
A henctit  must  benefit  to  the  condition  of  the  receiver : 
hesiiitoti  to  the  vvho  must  be,  either  his  superior,  his  inferior, 
coniiitionofthe  or  his  eqtml ; and  that  which  would  be  the 
receiver.  jiig^gg);  obligation  imaginable  to  the  one,  would 
perhaps  be  as  great  a mockery  and  affront  to  the  other : as 
a plate  of  broken  meat  (for  the  purpose)  to  a rich  man  were 
an  indignity,  which  to  a poor  man  is  a charity.  The  benefits 
of  princes  and  of  great  men,  are  honors,  offices,  moneys, 
profitable  commissions,  countenance,  and  protection:  the 
poor  man  has  nothing  to  present  but  good-will,  good  ad- 
vice, faith,  industry,  the  service  and  hazard  of  his  person, 
an  early  apple,  peradventure,  or  some  other  cheap  curiosity : 
equals  indeed  may  correspond  in  kind  ; but  whatsoever  the 
present  be,  or  to  whomsoever  we  offer  it,  this  general  rule 
must  be  observed,  that  we  always  design  the  good  and  satis- 
faction of  the  receiver,  and  never  grant  any  thing  to  his 
detriment.  It  is  not  for  a man  to  say,  I was  overcome  by 
importunity ; for  when  the  fever  is  off,  we  detest  the  man 
that  was  prevailed  upon  to  our  destruction.  I will  no  more 
undo  a man  with  his  will,  than  forbear  saving  him  against  it. 
It  is  a benefit  in  some  cases  to  grant,  and  in  others  to  deny ; 
so  that  we  are  rather  to  consider  the  advantage  than  the 
desire  of  the  petitioner.  For  we  may  in  a passion  earnestly 
beg  for  (and  take  it  ill  to  be  denied  too)  that  very  thing, 
which,  upon  second  thoughts,  we  may  come  to  curse,  as  the 
occasion  of  a most  pernicious  bounty.  Never  give  any  thing 
that  shall  turn  to  mischief,  infamy,  or  shame.  I will  con- 
sider another  man’s  want  or  safety ; but  so  as  not  to  forget 
my  own ; unless  in  the  case  of  a very  excellent  person,  and 
then  I shall  not  much  heed  what  becomes  of  myself.  There 
is  no  giving  of  water  to  a man  in  a fever ; or  putting  a sword 
into  a madman’s  hand.  He  that  lends  a man  money  to 
carry  him  to  a bawdy-house,  or  a weapon  for  his  revenge, 
makes  himself  a partaker  of  his  crime. 

He  that  would  make  an  acceptable  present,  will  pitch 
An  acceptable  upon  something  that  is  desired,  sought  for,  and 
present.  hard  to  be  found  ; that  which  he  sees  nowhere 
else,  and  which  few  have ; or  at  least  not  in  that  place  or 
season ; something  that  niay  be  always  in  his  eye,  and  mind 
him  of  his  benefactor.  If  it  be  lasting  and  durable,  so  much 
the  better ; as  plate,  rather  than  money ; statues  than  ap- 
parel ; for  it  will  serve  as  a monitor  to  mind  the  receiver 
of  the  obligation,  which  the  presenter  cannot  so  handsomely 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS.  28 

do.  However,  let  it  not  be  improper,  as  arms  to  a woman, 
books  to  a clown,  toys  to  a philosopher:  I will  not  givf 
to  any  man  that  which  he  cannot  receive,  as  if  I threw  a 
ball  to  a man  without  hands ; but  I will  make  a return, 
though  he  cannot  receive  it ; for  iny  business  is  not  to  oblige 
him,  but  to  free  myself:  nor  any  thing  that  may  reproach  a 
man  of  his  vice  or  infirmity  ; as  false  dice  to  a cheat ; spec- 
tacles to  a man  that  is  blind.  Let  it  not  be  unseasonable 
neither;  as  a furred  gown  in  summer,  an  umbrella  in  win- 
ter. It  enhances  the  value  of  the  present,  if  it  was  never 
given  to  him  by  any  body  else,  nor  by  me  to  any  other ; for 
that  which  we  give  to  every  body,  is  welcome  to  nobody. 
The  particularity  does  much,  but  yet  the  same  thing  may 
receive  a different  estimate  from  several  persons ; for  there 
are  ways  of  marking  and  recommending  it  in  such  a man- 
ner, that  if  the  same  good  office  be  done  to  twenty  people, 
every  one  of  them  shall  reckon  himself  peculiarly  obliged  • 
as  a cunning  whore,  if  she  has  a thousand  sweethearts,  will 
persuade  every  one  of  them  she  loves  him  best.  But  this  is 
rather  the  artifice  of  conversation  than  the  virtue  of  it. 

The  citizens  of  Megara  send  ambassadors  to  Alexander 
in  the  heigh*;  of  his  glory,  to  offer  him,  as  a Let  the  jiresent 
compliment,  the  freedom  of  their  city.  Upon  be  singular. 
Alexander’s  smiling  at  the  proposal,  they  told  him,  that  it 
was  a present  which  they  had  never  made  but  to  Hercule.s 
and  himself  Whereupon  Alexander  treated  them  kindly, 
and  acceptecl  of  it;  not  for  the  presenters’  sake,  but  be- 
cause they  had  joined  him  with  Hercules;  how  unreasonably 
soever;  for  Hercules  conquered  nothing  for  himself,  but 
made  his  business  to  vindicate  and  to  protect  the  miserable, 
without  puy  private  interest  or  design ; but  this  intempe- 
rate young  man  (whose  virtue  was  nothing  else  but  a suc- 
cessful *emerity)  was  trained  up  from  his  youth  in  the  trade 
of  violo, ice;  the  common  enemy  of  mankind,  as  well  of  his 
friends  as  of  his  foes,  and  one  that  valued  himself  upon 
being  terrible  to  all  mortals : never  considering,  that  the 
duPist  creatures  are  as  dangerous  and  as  dreadful,  as  the 
fieicest;  for  the  poison  of  a toad,  or  the  tooth  of  a snake, 
will  do  a man’s  business,  as  sure  as  the  paw  of  a tiger. 


C2 


30 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


CHAP.  VII. 

The  manner  of  ohlig^^ns 

There  is  not  any  benefit  so  glorious  in  itself,  but  it  may 
yet  be  exceedingly  sweetened  and  improved  by  the  manner 
of  conferring  it.  The  virtue,  I know,  rests  in  the  intent,  the 
profit  in  the  judicious  application  of  the  matter;  but  the 
beauty  and  ornament  of  an  obligation  lies  in  the  manner  of 
it;  and  it  is  then  perfect  when  the  dignity  of  the  office  is 
accompanied  with  all  the  charms  and  delicacies  of  humanity, 
good-nature,  and  address;  and  with  dispatch  too;  for  he  that 
puts  a man  off  from  time  to  time,  was  never  right  at  heart. 
In  the  first  place,  whatsoever  we  give,  let  us  do  it  frankly: 
a kind  benefactor  makes  a man  happy  as  soon 
ive  ran  y.  much  as  he  can.  There 

should  be  no  delay  in  a benefit  but  the  modesty  of  the  re- 
ceiver. If  we  cannot  foresee  the  request,  let  us,  however, 
immediately  grant  it,  and  by  no  means  suffer  the  repeating 
of  it.  It  is  so  grievous  a thing  to  say,  I BEG ; the  very 
word  puts  a man  out  of  countenance;  and  it  is  a double 
kindness  to  do  the  thing,  and  save  an  honest  man  the  con- 
fusion of  a blush.  It  comes  too  late  that  comes  for  the  ask- 
ing: for  nothing  costs  us  so  dear  as  that  we  purchase  with 
our  prayers : it  is  all  we  give,  even  for  heaven  itself ; and 
even  there  too,  where  our  petitions  are  at  the  fairest,  we 
choose  rather  to  present  them  in  secret  ejaculations  than  by 
v/ord  of  mouth.  That  is  the  lasting  and  the  acceptable 
benefit  that  meets  the  receiver  half-way.  The  rule  is,  we 
are  to  gwe,  as  we  would  receive,  cheerfully,  quickly,  and 
without  hesitation;  for  there  is'no  grace  in  a benefit  that 
sticks  to  the  fingers.  Nay,  if  there  should  be  occasion  for 
delay,  let  us,  however,  not  seem  to  deliberate;  for  demurring 
is  next  door  to  denying ; and  so  long  as  we  suspend,  so  long 
are  we  unwilling.  It  is  a court-humor  to  keep  people  upon 
the  tenters ; their  injuries  are  quick  and  sudden,  but  their 
benefits  are  slow.  Great  ministers  love  to  rack  men  with 
attendance,  and  account  it  an  ostentation  of  their  power  to 
hold  their  suitors  in  hand,  and  to  have  many  witnesses  of 
their  interest  A benefit  should  be  made  acceptable  by  all 


SENKCA  OF  BENEFITS. 


31 


possible  means,  even  to  the  end  that  the  receiver,  who  is 
never  to  forget  it,  may  bear  it  in  his  mind  with  satisfaction. 
There  must  be  no  mixture  of  sourness,  severity,  contumely, 
or  reproof,  with  our  obligations ; nay,  in  case  there  should 
be  any  occasion  for  so  much  as  an  admonition,  let  it  be  re- 
ferred to  another  time.  We  are  a great  deal  apter  to  re- 
member injuries  than  benefits ; and  it  is  enough  to  forgive 
an  obligation  that  has  the  nature  of  an  offence. 

There  are  some  that  spoil  a good  office  after  it  is  done 
and  others,  in  the  very  instant  of  doing  it. 

There  be  so  much  entreaty  and  importunity ; 
nay,  if  we  do  but  suspecta  petitioner,  we  put  on  a sour  face; 
look  another  way;  pretend  haste,  company,  business;  talk 
of  other  matters,  and  keep  him  off  with  artificial  delays,  let 
his  necessities  be  never  so  pressing ; and  when  we  are  put 
to  it  at  last,  it  comes  so  hard  from  us  that  it  is  rather  extort- 
ed than  obtained  ; and  not  so  properly  the  giving  of  a bounty, 
as  the  quitting  of  a man’s  hold  upon  the  tug,  when  another 
is  too  strong  for  him  ; so  that  this  is  but  doing  one  kindness 
for  me,  and  another  for  himself:  he  gives  for  his  own  quiet, 
after  he  has  tormented  me  with  difficulties  and  delays.  The 
manner  of  saying  or  of  doing  any  thing,  goes  a great  way 
in  the  value  of  the  thing  itself.  It  was  well  said  of  him  that 
called  a good  office,  that  was  done  harshly,  and  with  an  ill 
will,  a stony  ■piece  of  bread;  it  is  necessary  for  him  that  is 
hungry  to  receive  it,  but  it  almost  chokes  a man  in  the  going 
down.  There  must  be  no  pride,  arrogance  of  looks,  or  tu- 
mor of  words,  in  the  bestowing  of  benefits ; no  insolence 
of  behavior,  but  a modesty  of  mind,  and  a diligent  care  to 
catch  at  occasions  and  prevent  necessities.  A pause,  an  un- 
kind tone,  word,  look,  or  action,  destroys  the  grace  of  a 
courtesy.  It  corrupts  a bounty,  when  it  is  accompanied  w’ith 
state,  haughtiness,  and  elation  of  mind,  in  the  giving  of  it. 
Some  have  a trick  of  shifting  off  a suitor  with  a point  of 
wit,  or  a cavil.  As  in  the  case  of  the  Cynic  that  begged  a 
talent  of  Antigonus:  “That  is  too  much,”  says  he,  “fora 
Cynic  to  ask ;”  and  when  he  fell  to  a penny,  “ That  is  too 
little,”  says  he,  “ for  a prince  to  give.”  He  might  have  found 
a way  to  have  compounded  this  controversy,  by  giving  him 
a penny  as  to  a Cynic,  and  a talent  as  from  a prince.  What 
soever  we  bestow,  let  it  be  done  with  a frank  and  cheerful 
countenance  : a man  must  not  give  with  his  hand,  and  deny 
with  his  looks.  He  that  gives  quickly,  gives  willingly. 


52 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


We  are  likewise  to  accompany  ^oo<^  deeds  with  good 
Accompany  S'’)"'  (^o*"  purpose,)  “ Why  should 

good  deeds  you  make  such  a matter  of  this  1 why  did  not 
with  good  you  come  to  me  sooner  1 why  would  you  make 
use  of  any  body  else  1 I take  it  ill  that  you 
should  bring  me  a recommendation ; pray  let  there  be  no 
more  of  this;  but  when  you  have  occasion  hereafter,  come 
to  me  upon  your  own  account.”  That  is  the  glorious  bounty, 
when  the  receiver  can  say  to  himself ; “ What  a blessed 
day  has  this  been  to  me ! never  was  any  thing  done  so  gene- 
rously, so  tenderly,  with  so  good  a grace.  What  is  it  I 
would  not  do  to  serve  this  man  1 A thousand  times  as  much 
another  way  could  not  have  given  me  this  satisfaction.”  In 
such  a case,  let  the  benefit  be  never  so  considerable,  the 
manner  of  conferring  it  is  yet  the  noblest  part.  Where 
there  is  harshness  of  language,  countenance,  or  behavior, 
a man  had  better  be  without  it.  A flat  denial  is  infinitely 
before  a vexatious  delay ; as  a quick  death  is  a mercy,  com- 
pared with  a lingering  torment.  But  to  be  put  to  waitings 
and  intercessions,  after  a promise  is  passed,  is  a cruelty  in- 
tolerable. It  is  troublesome  to  stay  long  for  a benefit,  let 
it  be  never  so  great;  and  he  that  holds  me  needlessly  in 
pain,  loses  two  precious  things,  time,  and  the  proof  of  friend- 
ship. Nay,  the  very  hint  of  a man’s  want  comes  many 
times  too  late.  “ If  I had  money,”  said  Socrates,  “ I would 
buy  me  a cloak.”  They  that  knew  he  wanted  one  should 
have  prevented  the  very  intimation  of  that  want.  It  is  not 
the  value  of  the  present,  but  the  benevolence  of  the  mind, 
that  we  are  to  consider.  “ He  gave  me  but  a little,  but  it 
was  generously  and  frankly  done ; it  was  a little  out  of  a 
little : he  gave  it  me  without  asking ; he  pressed  it  upon 
me ; he  watched  the  opportunity  of  doing  it,  and  took  it  as 
an  obligation  upon  himself.”  On  the  other  side,  many 
benefits  are  great  in  show,  but  little  or  nothing  perhaps  in 
effect,  when  they  come  hard,  slow,  or  at  unawares.  That 
which  is  given  with  pride  and  ostentation,  is  rather  an  am- 
bition than  a bounty. 

Some  favors  are  to  be  conferred  in  •public,  others  in  pri- 
Some  favors  Iri  T’wWic  the  rewards  of  great  actions; 

in  public,  as  honors,  charges,  or  whatsoever  else  gives 
others  in  pri-  a man  reputation  in  the  world;  but  the  good 
offices  we  do  for  a man  in  want,  distress,  or 
under  reproach,  these  should  be  known  only  to  those  that 
have  the  benefit  of  them.  Nay,  not  to  them  neither,  if  we 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


33 


can  handsomely  conceal  it  from  whence  the  favor  came ; 
for  the  secrecy,  in  many  cases,  is  a main  part  of  the  benefit. 
There  was  a good  man  that  had  a friend,  who  was  both  poor 
and  sick,  and  ashamed  to  own  his  condition : he  privately 
conveyed  a bag  of  money  under  his  pillow,  that  he  might 
seem  rather  to  find  than  receive  it  Provided  I know  that  1 
give  it  no  matter  for  his  knowing  from  whence  it  comes 
that  receives  it  Many  a man  stands  in  need  of  help  that 
has  not  the  face  to  confess  it ; if  the  discovery  may  give  of- 
fence, let  it  lie  concealed ; he  that  gives  to  be  seen  would 
never  relieve  a man  in  the  dark.  It  would  be  too  tedious 
to  run  through  all  the  niceties  that  may  occur  upon  this  sub- 
ject; but,  in  two  words,  he  must  be  a wise,  a friendly,  and 
a well-bred  man,  that  perfectly  acquits  himself  in  the  art  and 
duty  of  obliging;  for  all  his  actions  must  be  squared  accord- 
ng  to  the  measures  of  civility,  good-nature,  and  discretion. 


CHAP.  VIII. 

The  difference  and  value  of  benefits. 

We  have  already  spoken  of  benefits  in  general ; the  mat- 
er and  the  intention,  together  with  the  manner  of  confer- 
ing  them.  It  follows  now,  in  course,  to  say  something  of 
the  value  of  them ; which  is  rated,  either  by  the  good  they 
do  us,  or  by  the  inconvenience  they  save  us,  and  has  no  other 
standard  than  that  of  a judicious  regard  to  circumstance  and 
occasion.  Suppose  I save  a man  from  drowning,  the  advan- 
tage of  life  is  all  one  to  him,  from  what  hand  soever  it  comes, 
or  by  what  means;  but  yet  there  may  be  a vast  difference 
in  the  obligation.  I may  do  it  with  hazard,  or  with  security 
with  trouble,  or  with  ease;  willingly,  or  by  compulsion;  upon 
intercession,  or  without  it : I may  have  a prospect  of  vain- 
glory or  profit:  I may  do  it  in  kindness  to  another,  or  an 
hundred  by-ends  to  myself;  and  every  point  does  exceed 
ingly  vary  the  case.  Two  persons  may  part  with  the  same 
sum  of  money,  and  yet  not  the  same  benefit : the  one  had  it 
of  his  own,  and  it  was  but  a little  out  of  a great  deal;  the 
:ther  borrowed  it,  and  bestowed  upon  me  that  which  he 
wanted  for  himself.  Two  boys  were  sent  out  to  fetch  a cer- 
tain person  to  their  master : the  one  of  them  hunts  up  and 
down,  and  comes  home  again  weary,  without  finding  him 


34 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


the  other  falls  to  play  with  his  companions  at  the  wheel  of 
Fortune,  sees  him  by  chance  passing  by,  delivers  him  his 
errand,  and  brings  him.  He  that  found  him  by  chance  de- 
serves to  be  punished ; and  he  that  sought  for  him,  and 
missed  him,  to  be  rewarded  for  his  good-will. 

In  some  cases  we  value  the  thing,  in  others  the  labor  and 
We  value  the  attendance.  What  can  be  more  precious  than 
ihiiiE,  the  labor,  good  manners,  good  letters,  life,  and  health  I 
or  attendance,  ygj.  phygjcians  and  tutors  only 

for  their  service  in  the  professions.  If  we  buy  things  cheap, 
it  matters  not,  so  long  as  it  is  a bargain : it  is  no  obligation 
from  the  seller,  if  nobody  else  will  give  him  more  for  it. 
What  would  not  a man  give  to  be  set  ashore  in  a tempest  I 
for  a house  in  a wilderness  1 a shelter  in  a storm?  a fire,  or 
bit  of  meat,  when  a man  is  pinched  with  hunger  or  cold? 
a defence  against  thieves,  and  a thousand  other  matters  of 
moment,  that  cost  but  little?  And  yet  we  know  that  the 
kipper  has  but  his  freight  for  our  passage;  and  the  car- 
penters and  bricklayers  do  their  work  by  the  day.  Those 
are  many  times  the  greatest  obligations  in  truth,  which  in 
vulgar  opinions  are  the  smallest:  as  comfort  to  the  sick, 
poor  captives;  good  counsel,  keeping  of  people  from  wick- 
edness, &c.  Wherefore  we  should  reckon  ourselves  to  owe 
most  for  the  noblest  benefits.  If  the  physician  adds  care 
and  friendship  to  the  duty  of  his  calling,  and  the  tutor  to 
the  common  method  of  his  business;  I am  to  esteem 
them  as  the  nearest  of  my  relations ; for  to  watch  with  me, 
to  be  troubled  for  me,  and  to  put  off  all  other  patients  for 
my  sake,  is  a particular  kindness:  and  so  it  is  in  my  tutor, 
f he  takes  more  pains  with  me  than  with  the  rest  of  my 
fellows.  It  is  not  enough,  in  this  case,  to  pay  the  one  his 
fees,  and  the  other  his  salary ; but  I am  indebted  to  them 
over  and  above  for  their  friendship.  The  meanest  of  me- 
chanics, if  he  does  his  work  with  industry  and  care,  it  is  an 
usual  thing  to  cast  in  something  by  way  of  reward  more 
than  the  bare  agreement : and  shall  we  deal  worse  with  the 
preservers  of  our  lives,  and  the  reformers  of  our  manners? 
He  that  gives  me  himself  (if  he  be  worth  taking)  gives 
the  greatest  benefit : and  this  is  the  present  which  iEschines, 
a poor  disciple  of  Socrates,  made  to  his  master,  and  as  a 
matter  of  great  consideration:  “Others  may  have  given 
you  much,”  says  he,  “ but  I am  the  only  man  that  has  left 
nothing  to  himself”  “This  gift,”  says  Socrates,  “you 
shall  never  repent  of ; for  I will  take  care  to  return  it  bet- 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


35 


ter  than  I found  it.”  So  that  a brave  mind  can  never  want 
matter  for  liberality  in  the  meanest  condition  ; for  Nature 
has  been  so  kind  to  us,  that  where  we  have  nothing  of  For- 
tune’s, we  may  bestow  something  of  our  own. 

It  falls  out  often,  that  a benefit  is  followed  with  an  inju- 
ry; let  which  will  be  foremost,  it  is  with  the  ^ bennfit  foi- 
latter  as  with  one  writing  upon  another;  it  lovved  by  an 
does  in  a great  measure  hide  the  former,  and  i"jury. 
keep  it  from  appearing,  but  it  does  not  quite  take  it  away. 
We  may  in  some  cases  divide  them,  and  both  requite  the 
one,  and  revenge  the  other ; or  otherwise  compare  them,  to 
know  whether  I am  creditor  or  debtor.  You  have  obliged 
me  in  my  servant,  but  wounded  me  in  my  brother;  you 
have  saved  my  son,  but  have  destroyed  my  father;  in  this 
instance,  I will  allow  as  much  as  piety,  and  justice,  and 
good-nature,  will  bear;  but  I am  not  willing  to  set  an  in- 
jury against  a benefit.  I would  have  some  respect  to  the 
time : the  obligation  came  first ; and  then,  perhaps,  the  one 
was  designed,  the  other  against  his  will : under  these  con- 
siderations I would  amplify  the  benefit,  and  lessen  the  in- 
jury; and  extinguish  the  one  with  the  other;  nay,  I would 
pardon  the  injury  even  without  the  benefit,  but  much  more 
after  it.  Not  that  a man  can  be  bound  by  one  benefit  to 
suffer  all  sorts  of  injuries;  for  there  are  some  cases  wherein 
we  lie  under  no  obligation  for  a benefit ; because  a greater 
injury  absolves  it:  as,  for  example,  a man  helps  me  out  of 
a law-suit,  and  afterwards  commits  a rape  upon  my  daugh- 
ter ; where  the  following  impiety  cancels  the  antecedent 
obligation.  A man  lends  me  a little  money,  and  then  sets 
my  house  on  fire ; the  debtor  is  here  turned  creditor,  when 
the  injury  outweighs  the  benefit.  Nay,  if  a man  does  but 
so  much  as  repent  the  good  office  done,  and  grow  sour  and 
insolent  upon  it,  and  upbraid  me  with  it;  if  he  did  it  only 
for  his  own  sake,  or  for  any  other  reason  than  for  mine,  I 
am  in  some  degree,  more  or  less,  acquitted  of  the  obligation. 
1 am  not  at  all  beholden  to  him  that  makes  me  the  instru- 
ment of  his  own  advantage.  He  that  does  me  good  for  his 
own  sake,  I will  do  him  good  for  mine. 

Suppose  a man  makes  suit  for  a place,  and  cannot  obtain 
at,  but  upon  the  ransom  of  ten  slaves  out  of  the  ^he  case  of  a 
galleys.  If  there  be  ten,  and  no  more,  they  conditional  re- 
owe him  nothing  for  their  redemption ; but  fiempuon. 
they  are  indebted  to  him  for  the  choice,  wiiere  he  might 
have  taken  ten  others  as  well  as  these.  Put  the  case  «gain. 


36 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


that  by  an  act  of  grace  so  many  prisoners  are  to  be  released 
their  names  to  be  drawn  by  lot,  and  mine  happens  to  come 
out  among  the  rest:  one  part  of  my  obligation  is  to  him 
that  put  me  in  a capacity  of  freedom,  and  the  other  is  to 
Providence  for  my  being  one  of  that  number.  The  greatest 
benefits  of  all  have  no  witnesses,  but  lie  concealed  in  the 
conscience. 

There  is  a great  difference  betwixt  a common  obligation 
Obligations  ®nd  a particular;  he  that  lends  my  country 
common  and  money,  obliges  me  only  as  a part  of  the  whole. 

personal.  Plato  crossed  the  river,  and  the  ferry-man 
would  take  no  money  of  liim:  he  reflected  upon  it  as  honor 
done  to  himself;  and  told  him,  “That  Plato  was  in  debt.” 
But  Plato,  when  he  found  it  to  be  no  more  than  he  did  for 
others,  recalled  his  word,  “ For,”  says  he,  “ Plato  will  owe 
nothing  in  particular  for  a benefit  in  common  ; what  I owe 
with  others,  I will  pay  with  others.” 

Some  will  have  it  that  the  necessity  of  wishing  a man 
Obligations  well  is  some  abatement  to  the  obligation  in  the 
upon  necessity,  doing  of  him  a good  office.  But  I say,  on  the 
contrary,  that  it  is  the  greater ; because  the  good-will  can- 
not be  changed.  It  is  one  thing  to  say,  that  a man  could 
not  but  do  me  this  or  that  civility,  because  he  was  forced 
to  it ; and  another  thing,  that  he  could  not  quit  the  good- 
will of  doing  it.  In  the  former  case,  I am  a debtor  to  him 
that  imposeth  the  force,  in  the  other  to  himself.  The  un- 
changeable good-will  is  an  indispensable  obligation:  and,  to 
say,  that  nature  cannot  go  out  of  her  course,  does  not  dis- 
charge us  of  what  we  owe  to  Providence.  Shall  he  be  said 
to  will,  that  may  change  his  mind  the  next  momenti  and 
shall  we  question  the  will  of  the  Almighty,  whose  nature 
admits  no  change!  Must  the  stars  quit  their  stations,  and 
fall  foul  one  upon  another!  must  the  sun  stand  still  in  the 
middle  of  his  course,  and  heaven  and  earth  drop  into  con- 
fusion ! must  a devouring  fire  seize  upon  the  universe ; the 
harmony  of  the  creation  be  dissolved ; and  the  whole  frame 
of  nature  swallowed  up  in  a dark  abyss;  and  will  nothing 
jess  than  this  serve  to  convince  the  world  of  their  audacious 
and  impertinent  follies!  It  is  not  to  say,  that  these  heavenhj 
bodies  are  not  made  for  us ; for  in  part  they  are  so ; and 
we  are  the  better  for  their  virtues  and  motions,  whether  we 
will  or  not;  though,  undoubtedly,  the  principal  cause  is  the 
unalterable  law  of  God.  Providence  is  not  moved  by  any 
tning  from  without;  but  the  Divine  will  is  an  everlasting 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


37 


law,  an  immutable  decree ; and  the  impossibility  of  variation 
proceeds  from  God’s  purpose  of  preserving ; for  he  never 
repents  of  his  first  counsels.  It  is  not  with  our  heavenly 
as  with  our  earthly  father.  God  thought  of  us  and  provided 
for  us,  before  he  made  us:  (for  unto  him  all  future  events 
are  present.)  Man  was  not  the  work  of  chance ; his  mind 
carries  him  above  the  slight  of  fortune,  and  naturally  aspires 
to  the  contemplation  of  heaven  and  divine  mysteries.  How 
desperate  a frenzy  is  it  now  to  undervalue,  nay,  to  contemn 
and  to  disclaim  these  divine  blessings,  without  which  vve 
are  utterly  incapable  of  enjoying  any  other  ! 


CHAP.  IX. 

An  honest  man  cannot  be  outdone  in  courtesy. 

It  passes  in  the  world  for  a generous  and  magnificent  say 
ing,  that  “ it  is  a shame  for  a man  to  be  outdone  in  courtesy 
and  it  is  worth  the  while  to  examine,  both  the  truth  of  it, 
and  the  mistake.  First,  there  can  be  no  shaftie  in  a virtuous 
emulation ; and,  secondly,  there  can  be  no  victory  without 
crossing  the  cudgels,  and  yielding  the  cause.  One  man  may 
have  the  advantage  of  strength,  of  means,  of  fortune ; and 
this  will  undoubtedly  operate  upon  the  events  of  good  pur- 
poses, but  yet  without  any  diminution  to  the  virtue.  The  good- 
will may  be  the  same  in  both,  and  yet  one  may  have  the 
heels  of  the  other ; for  it  is  not  in  a good  office  as  in  a course, 
where  he  wins  the  plate  that  comes  first  to  the  post:  and  even 
there  also,  chance  has  many  times  a great  hand  in  the  suc- 
cess. Where  the  contest  is  about  benefits ; and  that  the  one 
has  not  only  a good-will,  but  matter  to  work  upon,  and  a 
power  to  put  that  good  intent  in  execution  ; and  the  other 
has  barely  a good-will,  without  either  the  means,  or  the  occa- 
sion, of  a requital ; if  he  does  but  affectionately  wish  it,  and 
endeavor  it,  the  latter  is  no  more  overcome  in  courtesy  than 
he  is  in  courage  that  dies  with  his  sword  in  his  hand,  and  his 
"ace  to  the  enemy,  and  without  shrinking  maintains  his  sta- 
tion: for  where  fortune  ispartial,  it  is  enough  that  the  ^ood- 
will  is  equal.  There  are  two  errors  in  this  proposition : first, 
to  imply  that  a good  man  may  be  overcome ; and  then  to 
imagine  that  any  thing  shameful  can  befall  him.  The  Spar- 
tans prohibited  all  those  exercises  where  the  victory  was  de- 
D 


38 


S15NECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


dared  by  the  confession  of  the  contendant.  The  300  Fabii 
were  never  said  to  be  conquered,  but  slain ; nor  Regulus 
to  be  overcome,  thougli  he  was  taken  prisoner  by  the  Car- 
thaginians. The  mind  may  stand  firm  under  the  greatest 
malice  and  iniquity  of  fortune;  and  yet  the  giver  and  re- 
ceiver continue  upon  equal  terms : — as  we  reckon  it  a drawn 
battle,  when  two  combatants  are  parted,  though  the  one  has 
lost  more  blood  than  the  other.  He  that  knows  how  to 
owe  a courtesy,  and  heartily  wishes  that  he  could  requite 
it,  is  invincible;  so  that  every  man  may  be  as  grateful  as 
he  pleases.  It  is  your  happiness  to  give,  it  is  my  fortune  that 
I can  only  receive.  What  advantage  now  has  your  chance 
over  my  virtue  1 But  there  are  some  men  that  have  philoso- 
phized themselves  almost  out  of  the  sense  of  human  affec- 
tions; as  Diogenes,  that  walked  naked  and  unconcerned 
through  the  middle  of  Alexander’s  treasures,  and  was,  as  well 
in  other  men’s  opinions  as  in  his  own,  even  above  Alexander 
himself,  who  at  that  time  had  the  whole  world  at  his  feet: 
for  there  was  more  that  the  one  scorned  to  take  than  that 
the  other  had  it  in  his  power  to  give : and  it  is  a greater 
generosity  for  a beggar  to  refuse  money  than  for  a prince 
to  bestow  it.  This  is  a remarkable  instance  of  an  immova- 
ble mind,  and  there  is  hardly  any  contending  with  it;  but  a 
man  is  never  the  less  valiant  for  being  worsted  by  an  invul- 
nerable enemy  ; nor  the  fire  one  jot  the  weaker  for  not  con- 
suming an  incombustible  body;  nor  a sword  ever  a whit  the 
worse  for  not  cleaving  a rock  that  is  impenetrable;  neither 
is  a grateful  mind  overcome  for  want  of  an  answerable  for- 
tune. No  matter  for  the  inequality  of  the  things  given  and 
received,  so  long  as,  in  point  of  good  affection,  the  two  parties 
stand  upon  the  same  level.  It  is  no  shame  not  to  overtake 
a man,  if  we  follow  him  as  fast  as  we  can.  That  tumor  of 
a man,  the  vain-glorious  Alexander,  was  used  to  make  his 
boast,  that  never  any  man  went  beyond  him  in  benefits; 
and  yet  he  lived  to  see  a poor  fellow  in  a tub,  to  whom  there 
was  nothing  that  he  could  give,  and  from  whom  there  was 
nothing  that  he  could  take  away. 

Nor  is  it  always  necessary  for  a poor  man  to  fly  to  the 
A wise  friend  sanctuary  of  an  invincible  mind  to  quit  scores 
is  the  noblest  with  the  bounties  of  a plentiful  fortune  ; but 
of  presents,  gffgjj  fj,u  the  returns  which 

he  cannot  make  in  kind  are  more  than  supplied  in  dignity 
and  value.  Archelaus,  a king  of  Macedon,  inyited  Socrates 
tp  his  Dalace ; but  he  excused  himself,  as  unwilling  to  re- 


SENECA  or  BENEFITS. 


39 


ceive  greater  benefits  than  he  was  able  to  requite.  This 
perhaps  was  not  pride  in  Socrates,  but  craft ; for  he  was 
afraid  of  being  forced  to  accept  of  something  which  might 
possibly  have  been  unworthy  of  him ; beside,  that  he  was  a 
man  of  liberty,  and  loth  to  make  himself  a voluntary  slave. 
The  truth  of  it  is,  that  Archelaus  had  more  need  of  Socrates 
than  Socrates  of  Archelaus ; for  he  wanted  a man  to  teach 
him  the  art  of  life  and  death,  and  the  skill  of  government 
and  to  read  the  book  of  Nature  to  him,  and  show  him  the 
light  at  noon-day : he  wanted  a man  that,  when  the  sun 
was  in  an  eclipse,  and  he  had  locked  himself  up  in  all  the 
horror  and  despair  imaginable ; he  wanted  a man,  1 say,  to 
deliver  him  from  his  apprehensions,  and  to  expound  the 
prodigy  to  him,  by  telling  him,  that  there  was  no  more  in  it 
than  only  that  the  moon  was  got  betwixt  the  sun  and  the 
earth,  and  all  would  be  well  again  presently.  Let  the  world 
judge  now,  whether  Archelaus’  bounty,  or  Socrates’  philo- 
sophy, would  have  been  the  greater  present:  he  does  not 
understand  the  value  of  wisdom  and  friendship  that  does  not 
know  a wise  friend  to  be  the  noblest  of  presents.  A rarity 
scarce  to  be  found,  not  only  in  a family,  but  in  an  age ; and 
nowhere  more  wanted  than  where  there  seems  to  be  the 
greatest  store.  The  greater  a man  is,  the  more  need  he  has 
of  him ; and  the  more  difficulty  there  is  both  of  finding  and 
of  knowing  him.  Nor  is  it  to  be  said,  that  “I  cannot  requite 
such  a benefactor  because  I am  poor,  and  have  it  not I can 
give  good  counsel ; a conversation  wherein  he  may  take  both 
delight  and  profit ; freedom  of  discourse,  without  flattery ; 
kind  attention,  where  he  deliberates;  and  faith  inviolable 
where  he  trusts ; I may  bring  him  to  a love  and  knowledge 
of  truth ; deliver  him  from  the  errors  of  his  credulity,  and 
teach  him  to  distinguish  betwixt  friends  and  parasites. 


CHAP.  X. 

The  question  discussed.  Whether  or  not  a man  may  give 
or  return  a benefit  to  himself? 

There  are  many  cases,  wherein  a man  speaks  of  himself 
as  of  another.  As,  for  example,  “I  may  thank  myself  fo-* 


10 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


tills;  I am  angry  at  myself;  I hate  myself  for  that.”  And 
this  way  of  speaking  has  raised  a dispute  among  the  Stoics, 
whether  or  not  a man  may  give  or  return  a benefit  to  him- 
self]” For,  say  they,  if  I may  hunt  myself,  I may  oblige  my- 
self; and  that  which  were  a benefit  to  another  body,  why  is 
It  not  so  to  myself?  And  why  am  not  I as  criminal  in  being 
ungrateful  to  myself  as  if  I were  so  to  another  body  ? And 
the  case  is  the  same  in  flattery  and  several  other  vices;  as, 
on  the  other  side,  it  is  a point  of  great  reputation  for  a man 
to  command  himself.  Plato  thanked  Socrates  for  what  he 
had  learned  of  him  ; and  why  might  not  Socrates  as  well 
thank  Plato  for  that  which  he  had  taught  him  ? “ That 
which  you  want,”  says  Plato,  “ borrow  it  of  yourself.”  And 
why  may  not  I as  well  give  to  myself  as  lend  ? If  I may  be 
angry  with  myself,  I may  thank  myself;  and  if  I chide  my- 
self, I may  as  well  commend  myself,  and  do  myself  good  as 
well  as  hurt;  there  is  the  same  reason  of  contraries:  it  is 
a common  thing  to  say,  “ Such  a man  hath  done  himself  an 
injury.”  If  an  injury,  why  not  a benefit  ? But  I say,  that 
no  man  can  be  a debtor  to  himself ; for  the  benefit  must 
naturally  precede  the  acknowledgment;  and  a debtor  can 
no  more  be  without  a creditor  than  a husband  without  a wife. 
Somebody  must  give,  that  somebody  may  receive ; and  it  is 
neither  giving  nor  receiving,  the  passing  of  a thing  from 
one  hand  to  the  other.  What  if  a man  should  be  ungratefu. 
in  the  case?  there  is  nothing  lost;  for  he  that  gives  it  has 
it : and  he  that  gives  and  he  that  receives  are  one  and  the 
same  person.  Now,  properly  speaking,  no  man  can  be  said 
to  bestow  any  thing  upon  himself,  for  he  obeys  his  nature, 
that  prompts  every  man  to  do  himself  all  the  good  he  can. 
Shall  I call  him  liberal  that  gives  to  himself ; or  good-na- 
tured, that  pardons  himself;  or  pitiful,  that  is  affected  with 
his  own  misfortunes?  That  which  were  bounty,  clemency, 
compassion,  to  another,  to  myself  is  nature.  A benefit  is  a 
voluntaiy  thing;  but  to  do  good  to  myself  is  a thing  neces- 
sary. Was  ever  any  man  commended  for  getting  out  of  a 
ditch,  or  for  helping  himself  against  thieves  ? Or  what  if 
1 should  allow,  that  a man  might  confer  a benefit  upon  him- 
self ; yet  he  cannot  owe  it,  for  he  returns  it  in  the  same 
instant  that  he  receives  it.  No  man  gives,  owes,  or  makes 
a return,  but  to  another.  How  can  one  man  do  that  to  which 
two  parties  are  requisite  in  so  many  respects?  Giving  ana 
receiving  must  go  i>ackward  and  forward  betwixt  two  per- 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


41 


sons.  If  a man  give  to  himself,  he  may  sell  to  himself;  hut 
to  sell  is  to  alienate  a thing,  and  to  translate  the  right  of  it 
to  another;  now,  to  make  a man  both  the  giver  and  the  re- 
ceiver is  to  unite  two  contraries.  That  is  a benefit,  which, 
when  it  is  given,  may  possibly  not  be  requited ; but  he  tliat 
gives  to  himself,  must  necessarily  receive  what  ne  gives; 
beside,  that  all  benefits  are  given  for  the  receiver’s  sake, 
but  that  which  a man  does  for  himself  is  for  the  sake  of  the 
giver. 

This  is  one  of  those  subtleties,  which,  though  hardly  worth 
a man’s  while,  yet  it  is  not  labor  absolutely  lost  neither. 
There  is  more  of  trick  and  artifice  in  it  than  solidity ; and 
yet  there  is  matter  of  diversion  too ; enough  perhaps  to  pass 
away  a winter’s  evening,  and  keep  a man  waking  that  is 
heavy-headed. 


CHAP.  XI. 

How  far  one  man  may  be  obliged  for  a benefit  done  to 
another. 

The  question  now  before  us  requires  distinction  and  cau- 
tion. For  though  it  be  both  natural  and  generous  to  wish 
well  to  my  friend’s  friend,  yet  a second-hand  benefit  does  not 
bind  me  any  further  than  to  a second-hand  gratitude : so  that 
I may  receive  great  satisfaction  and  advantage  from  a good 
office  done  to  my  friend,  and  yet  lie  under  no  obligation  my- 
self; or,  if  any  man  thinks  otherwise,  I must  ask  him,  in 
the  first  place.  Where  it  begins]  and.  How  it  extends] 
that  it  may  not  be  boundless.  Suppose  a man  obliges  the 
son,  does  that  obligation  work  upon  the  father]  and  why  not 
upon  the  uncle  too]  the  brother]  the  wife]  the  sister] 
the  mother]  nay,  ujpon  all  that  have  any  kindness  for  him] 
and  upon  all  the  lovers  of  his  friends  ] and  upon  all  that  love 
them  too]  and  so  in  infinitum.  In  this  case  we  must  have 
recourse,  as  is  said  heretofore,  to  the  intention  of  the  bene- 
factor, and  fix  the  obligation  upon  him  unto  whom  the  kind- 
ness was  directed.  If  a man  manures  my  ground,  keeps  my 
house  from  burning  or  falling,  it  is  a benefit  to  me,  for  I am 
the  better  for  it,  and  my  house  and  land  are  insensible.  But 
1)2 


42 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


if  he  save  the  life  of  my  son,  tlie  benefit  is  to  my  son ; it  is 
a joy  and  a comfort  to  me,  but  no  obligation.  I am  as  much 
concerned  as  I ought  to  be  in  the  health,  the  felicity,  and  the 
welfare  of  my  son,  as  happy  in  the  enjoyment  of  him ; and 
I should  be  £is  unliappy  as  is  possible  in  his  loss:  but  it  does 
not  follow  that  I must  of  necessity  lie  under  an  obligation 
for  being  either  happier  or  less  miserable,  by  another  body’s 
means.  There  are  some  benefits,  which  although  conferred 
upon  one  man,  may  yet  work  upon  others ; as  a sum  of  money 
may  be  given  to  a poor  man  for  his  own  sake,  which  in  the 
consequence  proves  the  relief  of  his  whole  family ; but  still 
the  immediate  receiver  is  the  debtor  for  it;  for  the  question 
is  not,  to  whom  it  comes  afterward  to  be  transferred,  but  who 
is  the  principal?  and  upon  whom  it  was  first  bestowed? 
My  son’s  life  is  as  dear  to  me  as  my  own;  and  in  saving 
him  you  preserve  me  too : in  this  case  I will  acknowledge 
myself  obliged  to  you,  that  is  to  say,  in  my  son’s  name ; for 
in  my  own,  and  in  strictness,  I am  not ; but  I am  content  to 
make  myself  a voluntary  debtor.  What  if  he  had  borrowed 
money  ? my  paying  of  it  does  not  at  all  make  it  my  debt.  It 
would  put  me  to  the  blush  perhaps  to  have  him  taken  in  bed 
with  another  man’s  wife ; but  that  does  not  make  me  an 
adulterer.  It  is  a wonderful  delight  and  satisfaction  that  I 
receive  in  his  safety;  but  still  this  good  is  not  a benefit.  A 
man  may  be  the  better  for  an  animal,  a plant,  a stone ; but 
there  must  be  a will,  an  intention,  to  make  it  an  obligation. 
You  save  the  son  without  so  much  as  knowing  the  father, 
nay,  without  so  much  as  thinking  of  him  ; and,  perhaps  you 
would  have  done  the  same  thing  even  if  you  had  hated  him. 
But  without  any  further  alteration  of  dialogue,  the  conclu- 
sion is  this;  if  you  meant  him  the  kindness,  he  is  answera- 
ble for  it,  and  I may  enjoy  the  fruit  of  it  without  being 
obliged  by  it : but  if  it  was  done  for  my  sake,  then  I am  ac- 
countable ; or  howsoever,  upon  any  occasion,  I am  ready  to 
do  you  all  the  kind  offices  imaginable ; not  as  the  return  of 
a benefit,  but  as  the  earnest  of  a friendship ; which  you  are 
not  to  challenge  neither,  but  to  entertain  as  an  act  of  honor 
and  of  justice,  rather  than  of  gratitude.  If  a man  find  the 
body  of  my  dead  father  in  a desert,  and  give  it  a burial ; if 
he  did  it  as  to  my  father,  I am  beholden  to  him : but  if  the 
body  was  unknown  to  him,  and  that  he  wmuld  have  done  the 
same  thing  for  any  other  body,  I am  no  farther  concerned 
in  it  than  as  a piece  of  public  humanity. 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


43 


There  are,  moreover,  some  cases  wherein  an  unworthy 
person  may  he  obliged  for  the  sake  of  others : 
and  the  sottish  extract  of  an  ancient  nobility  may^b^ 
may  be  preferred  before  a better  man  that  is  obliged  for  the 
but  of  yesterday’s  standing.  And  it  is  but  rea- 
sonable  to  pay  a reverence  even  to  the  memory  worthy, 
of  eminent  virtues.  He  that  is  not  illustrious 
in  himself,  may  yet  be  reputed  so  in  the  right  of  his  ances- 
tors : and  there  is  a gratitude  to  be  entailed  upon  the  off- 
spring of  famous  progenitors.  Was  it  not  for  the  father's 
sake  that  Cicero  the  son  was  made  consul  1 and  was  it  not 
the  eminence  of  one  Pompey  that  raised  and  dignified  the 
re.st  of  his  family?  How  came  Caligula  to  be  emperor  of 
the  world  ? a man  so  cruel,  that  he  spik  blood  as  greedily  as 
if  he  were  to  drink  it;  the  empire  was  not  given  to  himself, 
but  to  his  father  Germanicus.  A bruve  man  deserved  that 
for  him,  which  he  could  never  have  cnallenged  upon  his  own 
merit.  What  was  it  that  preferied  Fabius  Persicus,  (whose 
very  mouth  was  the  uncleanest  part  about  him,)  what  was 
it  but  the  300  of  that  family  that  so  generously  opposed  the 
enemy  for  the  safety  of  the  commonwealth  1 

Nay,  Providence  itself  is  gracious  to  the  wicked  posteiity 
of  an  honorable  race.  The  counsels  of  heaven 
are  guided  by  wisdom,  mercy,  and  justice.  itseiV is^gra- 
Some  men  are  made  kings  for  their  proper  clous  to'the 
virtues,  without  any  respect  to  their  prede- 
cessors:  others  for  their  ancestors’  sakes,  whose  bie  race, 
virtues,  though  neglected  in  their  lives,  come 
to  be  afterward  rewarded  in  their  issues.  And  it  is  but 
equity,  that  our  gratitude  should  extend  as  far  as  the  in 
fluence  of  tiieir  heroical  actions  and  examples. 


CHAP.  XII. 

Tk"  bmef?ctcr  must  have  no  by-ends. 

We  come  now  to  the  main  point  of  the  matter  in  ques- 
tion : that  is  to  say,  whether  or  not  it  be  a thing  desirable 
in  itself,  the  giving  and  receiving  of  benefits  ? There  is 
a sect  of  philosophers  tnat  accounts  nothing  valuable  but 
w hat  is  profitable,  and  so  makes  all  virtue  mercenary ; an 
unmanly  mistake  to  imagine,  that  the  hope  of  g'ain,  or  fear 


44 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


of  loss,  oliould  make  a man  either  the  more  or  less  honest, 
As  who  should  say,  “What  will  I get  by  it,  and  I will  be 
an  honest  man  V’  Whereas,  on  the  contrary,  honesty  is  a 
thing  in  itself  to  be  purchased  at  any  rate.  It  is  not  for  a 
' ody  to  say,  “ It  will  be  a charge,  a hazard,  I shall  give  of- 
ence,”  &c.  My  business  is  to  do  what  I ought  to  do : all 
)ther  considerations  are  foreign  to  the  office.  Whensoever 
riy  duty  calls  me,  it  is  my  part  to  attend,  without  scrupuliz- 
ing  upon  forms  or  difficulties.  Shall  I see  an  honest  man 
oppressed  at  the  bar,  and  not  assist  him,  for  fear  of  a court 
faction  ! or  not  second  him  upon  the  highway  against  thieves, 
for  fear  of  a broken  head  1 and  choose  rather  to  sit  still,  tha 
quiet  spectator  of  fraud  and  violence!  Why  will  men  be 
just,  temperate,  generous,  brave,  but  because  it  carries  along 
with  it  fame  and  a good  conscience ! and  for  the  same  rea- 
son, and  no  other,  (to  apply  it  to  the  subject  in  hand,)  let  a 
man  also  be  bountiful.  The  school  of  Epicurus,  I am  sure, 
will  never  swallow  this  doctrine : (that  effeminate  tribe  of 
lazy  and  voluptuous  philosophers;)  they  will  tell  you,  that 
virtue  is  but  the  servant  and  vassal  of  pleasure.  “ No,”  says 
Epicurus,  “ I am  not  for  pleasure  neither  without  virtue.” 
But,  why  then  for  pleasure,  say  I,  before  virtue ! Not  that 
the  stress  of  the  controversy  lies  upon  the  order  only ; for 
the  power  of  it,  as  well  as  the  dignity,  is  now  under  debate. 
It  is  the  office  of  virtue  to  superintend,  to  lead,  and  to  gov- 
ern ; but  the  parts  you  have  assigned  it,  are  to  submit,  to 
follow,  and  to  be  under  command.  But  this,  you  will  say, 
is  nothing  to  the  purpose,  so  long  as  both  sides  are  agreed, 
that  there  can  be  no  happiness  without  virtue : “ Take  away 
that,”  says  Epicurus,  “ and  I am  as  little  a friend  to  pleasure 
as  you.”  The  pinch,  in  short,  is  this,  whether  virtue  itself 
be  the  supreme  good  or  the  only  cause  of  it!  It  is  not  the 
inverting  of  the  order  that  will  clear  this  point;  (though  it 
is  a very  preposterous  error,  to  set  that  first  which  should 
be  last.)  It  does  not  half  so  much  offend  me  ; ranging  of 
leasure  before  virtue,  as  the  very  comparing  of  them ; and 
the  bringing  of  the  two  opposites,  and  professed  enemies, 
into  any  sort  of  competition. 

The  drift  of  this  discourse  is,  to  support  the  cause  of 
benefits ; and  to  prove,  that  it  is  a mean  and  dishonorable 
Give  only  for  thing  to  give  for  any  other  end  than  for  giv- 
giving’s  sake,  ing’s  sake.  He  that  gives  for  gain,  profit,  or 
any  by-end,  destroys  the  very  intent  of  bounty;  for  it  falls 
only  upon  those  that  do  not  want,  and  perverts  the  charita- 


SENECA.  OF  BENEFITS. 


45 


ble  inclinations  of  princes  and  of  great  men,  wlio  cannot 
reasonably  propound  to  themselves  any  such  end.  Wliat 
does  the  sun  gel  by  travelling  about  the  universe;  by  visiting 
and  comforting  all  the  quarters  of  tlie  earth  1 Is  the  whole 
creation  made  and  ordered  for  the  good  of  mankind,  and 
every  particular  man  only  for  the  good  of  himself!  There 
passes  not  an  hour  of  our  lives,  wherein  we  do  not  enjoy 
the  blessings  of  Providence,  without  measure  and  without 
intermission.  And  what  design  can  the  Almighty  have 
upon  us,  who  is  in  himself  full,  safe,  and  inviolable!  If  he 
should  give  only  for  his  own  sake,  what  would  become  of 
poor  mortals,  that  have  nothing  to  return  him  at  best  but 
dutiful  acknowledgments!  It  is  putting  out  of  a benefit  to 
interest  only  to  bestow  where  we  may  place  it  to  advantage. 

Let  us  be  liberal  then,  after  the  example  of  our  great 
Creator,  and  give  to  others  with  the  same  Epicureans 
consideration  that  he  gives  to  us.  Epicurus’s  deny  a Pmvi- 
answer  will  be  to  this,  that  God  gives  no  bene-**®"^'  the  stoics 
fits  at  all,  but  turns  his  back  upon  the  world  ; it. 

and  without  any  concern  for  us,  leaves  Nature  to  take  her 
course:  and  whether  he  does  any  thing  himself,  or  nothing, 
he  takes  no  notice,  however,  either  of  the  good  or  of  the  ill 
Ihat  is  done  here  below.  If  there  were  not  an  ordering 
and  an  over-ruling  Providence,  how  comes  it  (say  I,  on  the 
Dther  side)  that  the  universality  of  mankind  should  ever 
have  so  unanimously  agreed  in  the  madness  of  worshipping 
a power  that  can  neither  hear  nor  help  us ! Some  blessings 
are  freely  given  us;  others  upon  our  prayers  are  granted 
us;  and  every  day  brings  forth  instances  of  great  and  of 
seasonable  mercies.  There  never  was  yet  any  man  so  in- 
sensible as  not  to  feel,  see,  and  understand,  a Deity  in  the 
ordinary  methods  of  nature,  though  many  have  been  so  ob- 
stinately ungrateful  as  not  to  confess  it ; nor  is  any  man  so 
wretched  as  not  to  be  a partaker  in  that  divine  bounty. 
Some  benefits,  it  is  true,  may  appear  to  be  unequally  divided; 
but  it  is  no  small  matter  yet  that  we  possess  in  common ; 
and  which  Nature  has  bestowed  upon  us  in  her  very  self.  If 
God  be  not  bountiful,  whence  is  it  that  we  have  all  that  we 
pretend  to!  That  which  we  give,  and  that  which  we  deny, 
that  which  we  lay  up,  and  that  which  we  squander  away! 
Those  innumerable  delights  for  the  entertainment  of  our 
eyes,  our  ears,  and  our  understandings!  nay,  that  copious 
matter  even  for  luxury  itself!  For  care  is  taken,  not  only 
for  our  necessities,  but  also  for  our  pleasures,  and  for  the 


46 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


gratifying  of  all  our  senses  and  appetites.  So  many  pleasant 
groves;  fruitful  and  salutary  plants;  so  many  fair  rivers  that 
serve  us,  both  for  recreation,  plenty,  and  commerce ; vicis- 
situdes of  seasons ; varieties  of  food,  by  nature  made  ready 
to  our  hands,  and  the  whole  creation  itself  subjected  tc 
mankind  for  health,  medicine,  and  dominion.  We  can  be 
thankful  to  a friend  for  a few  acres,  or  a little  money;  ana 
yet  for  the  freedom  and  command  of  the  whole  earth,  and 
for  the  great  benefits  of  our  being,  as  life,  health,  and 
reason,  we  look  upon  ourselves  as  under  no  obligation.  If 
a man  bestows  upon  us  a house  that  is  delicately  beautified 
with  paintings,  statues,  gildings,  and  marble,  we  make  a 
mighty  business  of  it,  and  yet  it  lies  at  the  mercy  of  a put! 
of  wind,  the  snuff  of  a candle,  and  a hundred  other  acci- 
dents, to  lay  it  in  the  dust.  And  is  it  nothing  now  to  sleep 
under  the  canopy  of  heaven,  where  we  have  the  globe  of 
the  earth  for  our  place  of  repose,  and  the  glories  of  the 
heavens  for  our  spectacle  1 How  comes  it  that  we  should 
so  much  value  what  we  have,  and  yet  at  the  same  time  be 
so  unthankful  for  it?  Whence  is  it  that  we  have  our  breath, 
the  comforts  of  light  and  of  heat,  the  very  blood  that  runs 
in  our  veins  1 the  cattle  that  feed  us,  and  the  fruits  of  the 
earth  that  feed  them  1 Whence  have  we  the  growth  of  our 
bodies,  the  succession  of  our  ages,  and  the  faculties  of  our 
minds  1 so  many  veins  of  metals,  quarries  of  marble,  &c. 
The  seed  of  every  thing  is  in  itself,  and  it  is  the  blessing 
of  God  that  raises  it  out  of  the  dark  into  act  and  motion. 
To  say  nothing  of  the  charming  varieties  of  music,  beauti- 
ful objects,  delicious  provisions  for  the  palate,  exquisite  per- 
fumes, which  are  cast  in,  over  and  above,  to  the  common 
necessities  of  our  being. 

All  this,  says  Epicurus,  we  are  to  ascribe  tc  Nature.  And 
God  and  Na-  ^ beseech  yel  as  if  they 

ture  are  one  Were  not  both  of  them  one  and  the  same 
and  the  same  power,  vvorking  in  the  whole,  and  in  every 
power.  Almighty 

Jupiter;  the  Thunderer;  the  Creator  and  Preserver  of  us 
all ; it  comes  to  the  same  issue ; some  will  express  him  un- 
der the  notion  of  Fate ; which  is  only  a connexion  of  causes, 
and  himself  the  uppermost  and  original,  upon  which  all  the 
rest  depend.  The  Stoics  represent  the  several  functions 
(>f  the  Almightu  Power  under  several  appellations.  When 
they  speak  of  him  as  the  father  and  the  fountain  of  all 
beings,  they  call  him  Bacchus:  and  under  the  name  of 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


47 


Hercules,  they  denote  him  to  be  ivdefaligable  and  invinci- 
ble ; and,  in  the  contemplation  of  him  in  the  reason,  order, 
proportion,  and  wisdom  of  his  proceedings,  they  call  him 
Mercury ; so  that  which  way  soever  they  look,  and  under 
what  name  soever  they  couch  their  meaning,  they  never 
fail  of  finding  him;  for  he  is  everywhere,  and  fills  his  own 
work.  If  a man  should  borrow  money  of  Seneca,  and  say 
that  he  owes  it  to  Annaeus  or  Lucius,  he  may  change  the 
name  but  not  his  creditor;  for  let  him  take  which  of  the 
three  names  he  pleases,  he  is  still  a debtor  to  the  same  per- 
son. As  justice,  integrity,  prudence,  frugality,  fortitude, 
are  all  of  them  goods  of  one  and  the  same  mind,  so  that 
whichsoever  of  them  pleases  us,  we  cannot  distinctly  say 
that  it  is  this  or  that,  but  the  mind. 

But,  not  to  carry  this  digression  too  far;  that  which  God 
himself  does,  we  are  sure  is  well  done ; and 
we  are  no  less  sure,  that  for  whatsoever  he  bounty  expects 
gives,  he  neither  wants,  expects,  nor  receives,  returns, 
any  thing,  in  return ; so  that  the  end  of  a benefit  ought  to 
be  the  advantage  of  the  receiver;  and  that  must  be  our 
scope  without  any  by-regard  to  ourselves.  It  is  objected 
to  us,  the  singular  caution  we  prescribe  in  the  choice  of  the 
person : for  it  were  a madness,  we  say,  for  a husbandman 
[ to  sow  the  sand : which,  if  true,  say  they,  you  have  an  eye 
upon  profit,  as  well  in  giving  as  in  plowing  and  sowing, 
j And  then  they  say  again,  that  if  the  conferring  of  a benefit 
, were  desirable  in  itself,  it  would  have  no  dependence  upon 
• the  choice  of  a man ; for  let  us  give  it  when,  how,  or  where- 
. soever  we  please,  it  would  be  still  a benefit.  This  does  not 
1 at  all  affect  our  assertion ; for  the  person,  the  matter,  the 
manner,  and  the  time,  are  circumstances  absolutely  neces- 
J sary  to  the  reason  of  the  action : there  must  be  a right 
y judgment  in  all  respects  to  make  it  a benefit.  It  is  my  duty 
e.  to  be  true  to  a trust,  and  yet  there  may  be  a time  or  a place, 
y wherein  I would  make  little  difference  betwixt  the  re- 
y nouncing  of  it  and  the  delivering  of  it  up ; and  the  same 
ii  rule  holds  in  benefits ; I will  neither  render  the  one,  nor 
> bestow  the  other,  to  the  damage  of  the  receiver.  A wicked 
i,  man  will  run  all  risks  to  do  an  injury,  and  to  compass  his 
i{  revenge ; and  shall  not  an  honest  man  venture  as  far  to  do 
1)  a good  office  1 All  benefits  must  be  gratuitous.  A merchant 
a sells  me  the  corn  that  keeps  me  and  my  family  from  starv- 
ill  ■ ing ; but  he  sold  it  for  his  interest,  as  well  as  I bought  it 
for  mine ; and  so  I owe  him  nothing  for  it.  He  that  gives 


48 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


for  profit,  gives  to  himself;  as  a physician  or  a .awyer, 
gives  counsel  for  a fee,  and  only  makes  use  of  me  for  his 
own  ends;  as  a grazier  fats  his  cattle  to  bring  them  to  a 
belter  market.  This  is  more  properly  the  driving  of  a trade 
than  the  cultivating  of  a generous  commerce.  This  for 
that,  is  rather  a truck  than  a benefit;  and  he  deserves  to 
be  cozened  that  gives  any  thing  in  hope  of  a return.  Ami 
in  truth,  what  end  should  a man  honorably  propound  1 not 
profit ; sure  that  is  vulgar  and  mechanic ; and  he  that  does 
not  contemn  it  can  never  be  grateful.  And  then  for  glory, 
it  is  a mighty  matter  indeed  for  a man  to  boast  of  doing  his 
duty.  We  are  to  give,  if  it  were  only  to  avoid  not  giving ; 
if  any  thing  comes  of  it,  it  is  clear  gain ; and,  at  worst, 
there  is  nothing  lost;  beside,  that  one  benefit  well  placed 
makes  amends  for  a thousand  miscarriages.  It  is  not  that 
I would  exclude  the  benefactor  neither  for  being  himself 
the  better  for  a good  office  he  does  for  another.  Some  there 
are  that  do  us  good  only  for  their  own  sakes;  others  for 
ours;  and  some  again  for  both.  He  that  does  it  for  me  in 
common  with  himself,  if  he  had  a prospect  upon  both  in 
the  doing  it,  I am  obliged  to  him  for  it ; and  glad  with  all 
my  heart  that  he  had  a share  in  it.  Nay,  I were  ungrateful 
and  unjust  if  I should  not  rejoice,  that  what  was  beneficial 
to  me  might  be  so  likewise  to  himself. 

To  pass  now  to  the  matter  of  gratitude  and  ingratitude. 
All  men  detest  never  Was  any  man  yet  so  wicked  as 

ingratitude,  not  to  approve  of  the  one,  and  detest  the 
and  love  the  other;  as  the  two  things  in  the  whole  world, 
contrary.  most  abominated,  the  other 

the  most  esteemed.  The  very  story  of  an  ungrateful  action 
puts  us  out  of  all  patience,  and  gives  us  a lothing  for  the 
author  of  it.  “ That  inhuman  villain,”  we  cry,  “ to  do  so 
horrid  a thing not,  “ that  inconsiderate  fool  for  omitting 
so  profitable  a virtue ;”  which  plainly  shows  the  sense  we 
naturally  have,  both  of  the  one  and  of  the  other,  and  that 
we  are  led  to  it  by  a common  impu'se  of  reason  and  of  con- 
science. Epicurus  fancies  God  to  be  without  power,  and 
without  arms;  above  fear  himself  and  as  little  to  be  feared. 
He  places  him  betwixt  the  orbs,  solitary  and  idle,  out  of  the 
reach  of  mortals,  and  neither  hearing  our  prayers  nor  mind- 
ing our  concerns;  and  allows  him  only  such  a veneration 
and  respect  as  we  pay  to  our  parents.  If  a man  should  ask 
him  now,  why  any  reverence  at  all,  if  we  have  no  obligation 
to  him’  or  rather,  why  that  greater  reverence  to  his  fortu- 


SENECA  OS  BENEFITS. 


49 


itous  atoms'!  his  answer  would  be,  that  it  was  for  their 
majesty  and  their  admirable  nature,  and  not  out  of  any 
hope  or  expectation  from  them.  So  that  by  his  proper  con- 
fession, a thing  may  be  desirable  for  its  own  worth.  But, 
says  he,  gratitude  is  a virtue  that  has  commonly  profit  an- 
nexed to  it.  And  where  is  the  virtue,  say  I,  that  has  not? 
but  still  the  virtue  is  to  be  valued  for  itself,  and  not  ftm  the 
profit  that  attends  it.  There  is  no  question,  but  gratitude 
for  benefits  received  is  the  ready  way  to  procure  more  ; and 
in  requiting  one  friend  we  encourage  many : but  these  ac- 
cessions fall  in  by  the  by;  and  if  I were  sure  that  the  doing 
of  good  offices  would  be  my  ruin.  I would  yet  pursue  them. 
He  that  visits  the  sick,  in  hope  of  a legacy,  let  him  be  never 
60  friendly  in  all  other  cases,  I look  upon  him  in  this  to  be 
no  better  than  a raven,  that  watches  a weak  sheep  only  to 
peck  out  the  eyes  of  it.  We  never  give  with  so  much 
judgment  or  care,  as  when  we  consider  the  honesty  of  the 
action,  without  any  regard  to  the  profit  of  it ; for  our  un- 
derstandings are  corrupted  by  fear,  hope,  and  pleasure. 


CHAP.  xm. 

There  are  many  cases  wherein  a man  may  be  minded  of  a 
benefit,  but  it  is  very  rarely  to  be  challenged,  and  never 
to  be  upbraided. 

If  the  world  were  wise,  and  as  honest  as  it  should  be, 
there  would  be  no  need  of  caution  or  precept  how  to  behave 
ourselves  in  our  several  stations  and  duties ; for  both  the 
giver  and  the  receiver  would  do  what  they  ought  to  do  of 
their  own  accord ; the  one  would  be  bountiful,  and  the 
other  grateful,  and  the  only  way  of  minding  a man  of  one 
good  turn  would  be  the  following  of  it  with  another.  But 
as  the  case  stands,  we  must  take  other  measures,  and  consult 
the  best  we  can,  the  common  ease  and  relief  of  mankind. 

As  there  are  several  sorts  of  ungrateful  men,  so  there 
must  be  several  ways  of  dealing  with  them.  Divers  sorts  of 
either  by  artifice,  counsel,  admonition,  or  re-  ingratitude, 
proof,  according  to  the  humor  of  the  person,  and  the  degree 
of  the  offence:  provided  always,  that  as  well  in  the  remind- 
ing a man  of  a benefit,  as  in  the  bestowing  of  it,  the  good 
of  the  receiver  be  the  principal  thing  intended.  There  ia 
E 


50 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


a curable  ingratitude,  and  an  incurable  ; there  is  a slothful, 
a neglectful,  a proud,  a dissembling,  a disclaiming,  a heed- 
less, a forgetful,  and  a malicious  ingratitude ; and  the  ap- 
plication must  be  suited  to  the  matter  we  have  to  work 
upon.  A gentle  nature  may  be  reclaimed  by  authority,  ad- 
vice, or  reprehension ; a father  a husband,  a friend,  may  do 
good  in  the  case.  There  are  a sort  of  lazy  and  sluggish  peo- 
ple, that  live  as  if  they  were  asleep,  and  must  be  lugged  and 
pinched  to  wake  them.  These  men  are  betwixt  grateful 
and  ungrateful ; they  will  neither  deny  an  obligation  nor 
return  it,  and  only  want  quickening.  I will  do  all  I can  to 
hinder  any  man  from  ill-doing,  but  especially  a friend ; and 
yet  more  especially  from  doing  ill  to  me.  I will  ruB  up  his 
memory  with  new  benefits : if  that  will  not  serve,  I will 
proceed  to  good  counsel,  and  from  thence  to  rebuke:  if  all 
fails,  1 will  look  upon  him  as  a desperate  debtor,  and  even 
let  him  alone  in  His  ingratitude,  without  making  him  my 
enemy:  for  no  necessity  shall  ever  make  me  spend  time  in 
wrangling  with  any  man  upon  that  point. 

Assiduity  of  obligation  strikes  upon  the  conscience,  as 
Persevprance  well  as  the  memory,  and  pursues  an  ungrate- 
in  obliging.  fi)l  man  till  he  becomes  grateful:  if  one  good 
office  will  not  do  it,  try  a second,  and  then  a third.  No  man 
can  be  so  thankless,  but  either  shame,  occasion,  or  example, 
will,  at  some  time  or  other,  prevail  upon  him.  The  very 
beasts  themselves,  even  lions  and  tigers,  are  gained  by  good 
usage:  beside,  that  one  obligation  does  naturally  draw  on 
another;  and  a man  would  not  willingly  leave  his  own  work 
imperfect.  “ I have  helped  him  thus  far,  and  I will  even  go 
through  with  it  now.”  So  that,  over  and  above  the  delight 
and  the  virtue  of  obliging,  one  good  turn  is  a shouting-horn 
to  another.  This,  of  all  hints,  is  perhaps  the  most  effectual, 
as  well  as  the  most  generous. 

In  some  cases  it  must  be  carried  more  home : as  in  that 
1 , of  Julius  Caesar,  who,  as  he  was  hearing  a 

a m.ni  in.iy  be  cause,  the  defendant  finding  himself  pinched  ; 
iiiin'ieii  nf  a “ Sir,”  says  he,  “do  not  you  remember  a strain 
bdiieht.  your  ancle  when  you  commanded  in 

Spain;  and  that  a soldier  lent  you  his  cloak  for  a cushion, 
upon  the  top  of  a craggy  rock,  under  the  shade  of  a little 
tree,  in  the  heat  of  the  day  !”  “ I remember  it  perfectly 
well,”  says  Caesar,  “and  that  when  I was  ready  to  choke 
with  thirst,  an  honest  fellow  fetched  me  a draught  of  water 
m his  heimet.”  “But  that  man,  and  that  helmet,”  says  the 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


51 


soldier,  “does  Caesar  think  that  he  could  not  know  them 
again,  if  he  saw  them  1”  “ The  man  perchance,  I might,” 
says  Caesar,  somewhat  offended,  “ but  not  the  helmet.  But 
what  is  the  story  to  my  business  1 you  are  none  of  the  man.” 
“Pardon  me,  Sir,”  says  the  soldier,  “1  am  that  very  man  ; 
but  Caesar  may  well  forget  me ; for  I have  been  trepanned 
since,  and  lost  an  eye  at  the  battle  of  Munda,  where  that 
helmet  too  had  the  honor  to  he  cleft  with  a Spanish  blade.” 
Caesar  took  it  as  it  was  intended  ; and  it  was  an  honorable 
and  a prudent  way  of  refreshing  his  memory.  But  this 
would  not  have  gone  down  so  well  with  Tiberius : for  when 
an  old  acquaintance  of  his  began  his  address  to  him  with. 
“ You  remember,  Caesar.”  “No,”  says  Caesar,  (cutting  him 
short,)  “ I do  not  remember  what  I WAS.”  Now,  with  him, 
it  was  better  to  be  forgotten  than  remembered ; for  an  old 
friend  was  as  bad  as  an  informer.  It  is  a common  thing 
for  men  to  hate  the  authors  of  their  preferment,  as  the  wit- 
nesses of  their  mean  original. 

There  are  some  people  well  enough  disposed  to  be  grate- 
ful, but  they  cannot  hit  upon  it  without  a people 
prompter ; they  are  a little  like  school-boys  that  would  be  grate- 
have  treacherous  memories;  it  is  but  helping  fui  if  they  tiad 
them  here  and  there  with  a word,  when  they  “ P‘o“P‘®r. 
stick,  and  they  will  go  through  with  their  lesson  ; they  must 
be  taught_to  be  thankful,  and  it  is  a fair  step,  if  we  can  but 
bring  them  to  be  willing,  and  only  offer  at  it.  Some  bene- 
fits we  have  neglected  ; some  we  are  not  willing  to  remem- 
ber. He  is  ungrateful  that  disowns  an  obligatkm,  and  so  is 
he  that  dissembles  it,  or  to  his  power  does  not  requite  it ; 
but  the  worst  of  all  ishe  that  forgets  it. — Conscience,  or  occa- 
sion, may  revive  the  rest ; but  here  the  very  memory  of  it  is 
lost.  Those  eyes  that  cannot  endure  the  light  are  weak, 
but  those  are  stark  blind  that  cannot  see  it.  I do  not  love 
to  hear  people  say,  “ Alas ! poor  man,  he  has  forgotten  i. . 
as  if  that  were  the  excuse  of  ingratitude,  which  is  the  very 
cause  of  it:  for  if  he  were  not  ungrateful,  he  would  not  b 
forgetful,  and  lay  that  out  of  the  way  which  should  be  al 
ways  uppermost  and  in  sight.  He  that  thinks  as  he  ought 
to  do,  of  requiting  a benefit,  is  in  no  danger  of  forgetting  it. 
— There  are,  indeed,  some  benefits  so  great,  that  they  can 
never  slip  the  memory;  but  those  which  are  less  in  value, 
and  more  in  number,  do  commonly  escape  us.  VVe  are  apt 
enciugh  to  acknowledge,  that  “ such  a man  has  been  the 


52 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


making'  of  us;  ’ so  long  as  we  are  in  possession  of  the  ad- 
vantage he  has  brought  us;  but  new  appetites  deface  old 
kindnesses,  and  we  carry  our  prospect  forward  to  something 
more,  without  considering  what  we  have  obtained  already. 
All  that  is  past  we  give  for  lost ; so  that  we  are  only  intent 
upon  the  future.  VVhen  a benefit  is  once  out  of  sight,  or 
out  of  use,  it  is  buried. 

It  is  the  freak  of  many  people,  they  cannot  do  a good  of- 
There  must  be  presently  boasting  of  it,  drunk 

no  upbraiding  or  Sober : and  about  it  goes  into  all  companies, 

of  benefito.  what  wonderful  things  they  have  done  for  this 
man,  and  what  for  the  other.  A foolish  and  a dangerous 
vanity,  of  a doubtful  friend  to  make  a certain  enemy.  For 
these  reproaches  and  contempts  will  set  every  body’s  tongue 
a walking;  and  people  will  conclude,  that  these  things 
would  never  be,  if  there  were  not  something  very  extraor- 
dinary in  the  bottom  of  it.  When  it  comes  to  that  once, 
there  is  not  any  calumny  but  fastens  more  or  less,  nor  any 
falsehood  so  incredible,  but  in  some  part  or  other  of  it,  shall 
pass  for  a truth.  Our  great  mistake  is  this,  we  are  still  in- 
clined to  make  the  most  of  what  we  give,  and  the  least  of  what 
we  receive ; whereas  we  should  do  the  clean  contrary.  “ It 
might  have  been  more,  but  he  had  a great  many  to  oblige. 
It  was  as  much  as  he  could  well  spare ; he  will  make  it  up 
some  other  time,”  &c.  Nay,  we  should  be  so  far  Jfom  mak- 
ing publication  of  our  bounties,  as  not  to  hear  them  so  much 
as  mentioned  without  sweetening  the  matter:  as,  “Alas,  I 
owe  him  a great  deal  more  than  that  comes  to.  If  it  were 
in  my  power  to  serve  him,  I should  be  very  glad  of  it.”  And 
this,  too,  not  with  the  figure  of  a compliment,  but  with  all 
humanity  and  truth.  There  was  a man  of  quality,  that  in 
the  triumviral  proscription,  was  saved  by  one  of  Csesar’s 
friends,  who  would  be  still  twitting  him  with  it;  who  it  was 
that  preserved  him,  and  telling  him  over  and  over,  “you 
had  gone  to  pot,  friend,  but  for  me.”  “ Pr’ythee,”  says  the 
proscribed,  “ let  me  hear  no  more  of  this,  or  even  leave  me 
as  you  found  me:  I am  thankful  enough  of  myself  to  ac- 
knowledge that  I owe  you  my  life,  but  it  Is  death  to  have  it 
rung  in  my  ears  perpetually  as  a reproach ; it  looks  as  if 
you  had  only  saved  me  to  carry  me  about  for  a spectacle.  I 
would  fain  forget  the  misfortune  that  I was  once  a prisoner, 
without  being  led  in  triumph  every  day  of  my  life.” 

Oh!  the  pride  and  folly  of  a great  fortune,  that  terns 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


53 


benefits  into  injuries!  that  delights  in  excesses,  bmintia» 
and  disgraces  every  thing  it  does ! Who  would  arc  Kcstowed 
receive  any  thing  from  it  upon  these  terms]  the  nsoience. 
higher  it  raises  us,  the  more  sordid  it  makes  us.  Whatso- 
ever it  gives  it  corrupts.  What  is  there  in  it  that  should 
thus  puff  us  up"*  by  what  magic  is  it  that  we  are  so  trans- 
formed, that  we  do  no  longer  know  ourselves  1 Is  it  im- 
possible for  greatness  to  be  liberal  without  insolence  1 The 
benefits  that  we  receive  from  our  superiors  are  then  wel- 
come when  they  come  with  an  open  hand,  and  a clear  brow; 
without  either  contumely  or  state ; and  so  as  to  prevent  our 
necessities.  The  benefit  is  never  the  greater  for  the  mak- 
ing of  a bustle  and  a noise  about  it : but  the  benefactor  is 
much  the  less  for  the  ostentation  of  his  good  deeds;  which 
makes  that  odious  to  us,  which  would  be  otherwise  delight- 
ful. Tiberius  had  gotten  a trick,  when  any  man  begged 
money  of  him,  to  refer  him  to  the  senate,  where  all  the  peti- 
tioners were  to  deliver  up  the  names  of  their  creditors.  His 
end  perhaps  was,  to  deter  men  from  asking,  by  exposing  the 
condition  of  their  fortunes  to  an  examination.  But  it  was, 
however,  a benefit  turned  unto  a reprehension,  and  he  made 
a reproach  of  a bounty. 

But  it  is  not  enough  yet  to  forbear  the  casting  of  a benefit 
in  a man’s  teeth ; for  there  are  some  that  will  , 
not  allow  it  to  be  so  much  as  challenged,  t or  man  may  be 
an  ill  man,  say  they,  will  not  make  a return,  “ 

though  it  be  demanded,  and  a good  man  will 
do  it  of  himself : and  then  the  asking  of  it  seems  to  turn  it 
into  a debt.  It  is  a kind  of  injury  to  be  too  quick  with  the 
former : for  to  call  upon  him  too  soon  reproaches  him,  as  if 
he  would  not  have  done  it  otherwise.  Nor  would  I recall  a 
benefit  from  any  man  so  as  to  force  it,  but  only  to  receive  it. 
If  I let  him  quite  alone,  I make  myself  guilty  of  his  ingrati- 
tude; and  undo  him  for  want  of  plain  dealing.  A father 
reclaims  a disobedient  son,  a wife  reclaims  a dissolute  hus- 
band ; and  one  friend  excites  the  languishing  kindness  of 
another.  How  many  men  are  lost  for  want  of  being  touch- 
ed to  the  quick]  So  long  as  I am  not  pressed,  I will  rather 
desire  a favor,  than  so  much  as  mention  a requital ; but  if 
my  country,  my  family,  or  my  liberty,  be  at  stake,  my  zeal 
and  indignation  shall  overrule  my  modesty,  and  the  world 
shall  then  understand  that  I have  done  all  I could,  not  to 
stand  in  need  of  an  ungrateful  man.  And  in  conclusion,  the 
necessity  of  receiving  a benefit  shall  overcome  the  shame 
E2 


54 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


of  recalling'  it.  Nor  is  it  only  allowable  upon  some  exigents 
to  put  the  receiver  in  mind  of  a good  turn,  but  it  is  many 
times  for  the  common  advantage  of  both  parties. 


CHAP.  XIV. 

How  far  to  oblige  or  requite  a wicked  man. 

There  are  some  benefits  whereof  a wicked  man  is  wholly 
incapable;  of  which  hereafter.  There  are  others,  which  are 
bestowed  upon  him,  not  for  his  own  sake,  but  for  secondary 
reasons;  and  of  these  we  have  spoken  in  part  already. 
There  are,  moreover,  certain  common  offices  of  humanity, 
which  are  only  allowed  him  as  he  is  a man,  and  without  any 
regard  either  to  vice  or  virtue.  To  pass  over  the  first  point; 
the  second  must  be  handled  with  care  and  distinction,  and 
not  without  some  seeming  exceptions  to  the  general  rule ; 
as  first,  here  is  no  choice  or  intention  in  the  case,  but  it  is  a 
good  office  done  him  for  some  by-interest,  or  by  chance. 
Secondly,  There  is  no  judgment  in  it  neitlier,  for  it  is  to  a 
wicked  man.  But  to  shorten  the  matter : without  these  cir- 
cumstances it  is  not  properly  a benefit;  or  at  least  not  to 
him ; for  it  looks  another  way.  I rescue  a friend  from 
thieves,  and  the  other  escapes  for  company.  I discharge  a 
debt  for  a friend,  and  the  other  comes  off  too : for  they  were 
both  in  a bond.  The  third  is  of  a great  latitude,  and  varies 
according  to  the  degree  of  generosity  on  the  one  side,  and 
of  wickedness  on  the  other.  Some  benefactors  will  super- 
erogate, and  do  more  than  they  are  bound  to  do ; and  some 
men  are  so  lewd,  that  it  is  dangerous  to  do  them  any  sort 
of  good ; no,  not  so  much  as  by  way  of  return  or  requital. 

If  the  benefactor’s  bounty  must  extend  to  the  bad  as  well 
How  to  oblige  the  good ; put  the  case,  that  I promise  a 
an  ungrateful  good  office  to  an  ungrateful  man  ; we  are  first 
to  distinguish  (as  I said  before)  betwixt  a com- 
mon benefit  and  a 'personal;  betwi>t  what  is  given  for  merit 
and  what  for  company.  Secondly,  Whether  or  not  we  know 
the  person  to  be  ungrateful,  and  can  reasonably  conclude, 
that  this  vice  is  incurable.  Thirdly,  A consideration  must 
be  had  of  the  promise,  how  far  that  may  oblige  us.  The 
twc  first  01  nts  are  cleared  both  in  one:  we  cannot  justify 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


55 


any  particular  kindness  for  one  that  we  conclude  to  be  a 
hopelessly  wicked  man  : so  tliat  the  force  of  the  promise  is 
in  the  single  point  in  question.  In  the  promise  of  a good 
office  to  a wicked  or  ungrateful  man,  I am  to  blame  if  I 
did  it  knowingly ; and  I am  to  blame  nevertheless,  if  I did  it 
otherwise : but  I must  yet  make  it  good,  (under  due  quali 
fications,)  because  I promised  it;  that  is  to  say,  matters  con- 
tinuing in  the  same  state,  for  no  man  is  answerable  for  ac- 
cidents. I will  sup  at  such  a place  though  it  be  cold ; I will 
rise  at  such  an  hour  though  I be  sleepy ; but  if  it  prove  tem- 
pestuous, or  that  I fall  sick  of  a fever,  I will  neither  dc  the 
one  nor  the  other.  I promise  to  second  a friend  in  a quarrel, 
or  to  plead  his  cause ; and  when  I come  into  the  field,  or 
into  the  court,  it  proves  to  be  against  my  father  or  my  brother: 
I promise  to  go  a journey  with  him,  but  there  is  no  travelling 
upon  the  road  for  robbing;  my  child  is  fallen  sick;  or  my 
wife  is  in  labor:  these  circumstances  are  sufficient  to  dis- 
charge me ; for  a promise  against  law  or  duty  is  void  in  its 
own  nature.  The  counsels  of  a wise  man  are  certain,  but 
events  are  uncertain.  And  yet  if  I have  passed  a rash 
promise,  I will  in  some  degree  punish  the  temerity  of  mak- 
ing it  with  the  damage  of  keeping  it;  unless  it  turn  very 
much  to  my  shaine  or  detriment:  and  then  I will  be  my 
own  confessor  in  the  point,  and  rather  be  once  guilty  of  de- 
nying, than  always  of  giving.  It  is  not  with  a benefit  as 
with  a debt:  it  is  one  thing  to  trust  an  ill  paymaster,  and 
another  thing  to  oblige  an  unworthy  person : the  one  is  an 
ill  man,  and  the  other  only  an  ill  husband. 

There  was  a valiant  fellow  in  the  army,  that  Philip  of 
Macedon  took  particular  notice  of,  and  he  gave  him  several 
considerable  marks  of  the  kindness  he  had  for  him.  This 
soldier  put  to  sea,  and  was  cast  away  upon  a coast,  where  a 
charitable  neighbor  took  him  up  half  dead;  carried  him  to 
his  house  ; and  there,  at  his  own  charge  maintained  and  pro- 
vided for  him  thirty  days,  until  he  was  perfectly  recovered : 
and,  after  all,  furnished  him  over  and  above  with  a viaticum 
at  parting.  The  soldier  told  him  the  mighty  matters  that 
he  would  do  for  him  in  return,  so  soon  as  he  should  have  the 
honor  once  again  to  see  his  master.  To  court  he  goes,  tells 
Philip  of  the  wreck,  but  not  a syllable  of  his  preserver,  and 
begs  the  estate  of  this  very  man  that  kept  him  alive.  It  was 
with  Philip  as  it  was  with  many  other  princes,  they  give  they 
know  not  what,  especially  in  a time  of  war.  He  granted  the 
soldier  his  request,  contemplating,  at  the  same  time,  the  im- 


56 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


possibility  of  satisfying  so  many  ravenous  appetites  as  he 
had  to  please.  When  the  good  man  came  to  be  turned  out 
of  all,  he  was  not  so  mealy-mouthed  as  to  thank  his  majesty 
for  not  giving  away  his  person  too  as  well  as  his  fortune  ; 
but  in  a bold,  frank  letter  to  Philip,  made  a just  report  of 
the  whole  story.  The  king  was  so  incensed  at  the  abuse, 
that  he  immediately  commanded  the  right  owner  to  be  re- 
stored to  his  estate,  and  the  unthankful  guest  and  soldier  to 
be  stigmatized  for  an  example  to  others.  Should  Philip 
now  have  kept  this  promise!  First,  he  owed  the  soldier  no- 
thing. Secondly,  it  would  have  been  injurious  and  impious. 
And,  lastly,  a precedent  of  dangerous  consequence  to  human 
society.  For  it  would  have  been  little  less  that  an  interdic- 
tion of  fire  and  water  to  the  miserable,  to  have  inflicted 
such  a penalty  upon  relieving  them.  So  that  there  must 
be  always  some  tacit  exception  or  reserve : If  1 can,  if  1 
may ; or,  if  matters  continue  as  they  were. 

If  it  should  be  my  fortune  to  receive  a benefit  from  one 

that  afterwards  betrays  his  country,  I should 
ohMga^ion  from  reckon  myself  obliged  to  him  for  such 
one  that  after-  a requital  as  might  stand  with  my  public 

wards  iietrays  j,jty  j yyould  not  furnish  him  with  arms,  nor 
his  country.  . / t i it 

With  money  or  credit,  or  levy  or  pay  soldiers; 
but  I should  not  stick  to  gratify  him  at  my  own  expense 
with  such  curiosities  as  might  please  him  one  way,  without 
doing  mischief  another;  I would  not  do  any  thing  that 
might  contribute  to  the  support  or  advantage  of  his  party. 
But  what  should  I do  now  in  the  case  of  a benefactor,  that 
should  afterwards  become,  not  only  mine  and  my  country’s 
enemy,  but  the  common  enemy  of  mankind  1 I would  here 
distinguish  betwixt  the  wickedness  of  a man  and  the  cru- 
elty of  a beast ; betwixt  a limited  or  a particular  passion  and 
a sanguinary  rage,  that  extends  to  the  hazard  and  destruc- 
tion of  human  society.  In  the  former  case  I would  quit 
scores,  that  I might  have  no  more  to  do  with  him  ; but  if  he 
comes  once  to  delight  in  blood,  and  to  act  outrages  with 
greediness;  to  study  and  invent  torments,  and  to  take  plea- 
sure in  them ; the  law  of  reasonable  nature  has  discharged 
me  of  such  a debt.  But  this  is  an  impiety  so  rare  that  it 
might  pass  for  a portent,  and  be  reckoned  among  comets 
and  monsters.  Let  us  therefore  restrain  our  discourse  to 
such  men  as  we  detest  without  horror ; such  men  as  we  see 
every  day  in  courts,  camps,  and  upon  the  seats  of  justice ; 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS.  57 

to  such  wicked  men  I will  return  what  I have  received, 
without  making  any  advantage  of  their  unrighteousness. 

It  does  not  divert  the  Almighty  from  being  still  gracious, 
though  we  proceed  daily  in  the  abuse  of  his  providence  is 
bounties.  How  many  are  there  that  enjoy  the  gracious  even 
comfort  of  the  light  that  do  not  deserve  it ; wicked, 

that  wish  they  had  never  been  born  ! and  yet  Nature  goes 
quietly  on  with  her  work,  and  allows  them  a being,  even 
in  despite  of  their  unthankfulness.  Such  a knave,  we  cry, 
was  better  used  than  I : and  the  same  complaint  we  extend 
to  Providence  itself.  How  many  wicked  men  have  good 
crops,  when  better  than  themselves  have  their  fruits  blasted  ! 
Such  a man,  we  say,  has  treated  me  very  ill.  Why,  what 
should  we  do,  but  that  very  thing  which  is  done  by  God 
himself!  that  is  to  say,  give  to  the  ignorant,  and  persevere 
to  the  wicked.  Alt  our  ingratitude,  we  see,  does  not  turn 
Providence  from  pouring  down  of  benefits,  even  upon  those 
that  question  whence  they  come.  The  wisdom  of  Heaven 
does  all  things  with  a regard  to  the  good  of  the  universe, 
and  the  blessings  of  nature  are  granted  in  common,  to  the 
worst  as  well  as  to  the  best  of  men ; for  they  live  promis- 
cuously together;  and  it  is  God’s  will,  that  the  wicked 
shall  rather  fare  the  better  for  the  good,  than  that  the  good 
shall  fare  the  worse  for  the  wicked.  It  is  true  that  a wise 
prince  will  confer  peculiar  honors  only  upon  the  worthy ; 
but  in  the  dealing  of  a public  dole,  there  is  no  respect  had 
to  the  manners  of  the  man ; but  a thief  or  traitor  shall  put 
in  for  a share  as  well  as  an  honest  man.  If  a good  man 
and  a wicked  man  sail  both  in  the  same  bottom,  it  is  impos- 
sible that  the  same  wind  which  favors  the  one  should  cross 
the  other.  The  common  benefits  of  laws,  privileges,  com- 
munities, letters,  and  medicines,  are  permitted  to  the  bad 
as  well  as  to  the  good ; and  no  man  ever  yet  suppressed  a 
sovereign  remedy  for  fear  a wicked  man  might  be  cured 
with  it.  Cities  are  built  for  both  sorts,  and  the  same  remedy 
works  upon  both  alike.  In  these  cases,  we  are  to  set  an 
estimate  upon  the  persons:  there  is  a great  difference  be- 
twixt the  choosing  of  a man  and  the  not  excluding  him  • 
the  law  is  open  to  the  rebellious  as  well  as  to  the  obedient; 
there  are  some  benefits  which,  if  they  were  not  allowed  to 
all,  could  not  be  enjoyed  by  any.  The  sun  was  never  made 
for  me,  but  for  the  comfort  of  the  world,  and  for  the  provi- 
dential order  of  the  seasons ; and  yet  I am  not  without  ray 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


f)S 

private  oblig’ation  also.  To  conclude,  he  that  will  not  oblige 
the  wicked  and  the  ungrateful,  must  resolve  to  oblige  no- 
body ; for  in  some  sort  or  another  we  are  all  of  us  wicked, 
we  are  all  of  us  ungrateful,  every  man  of  us. 

We  have  been  discoursing  all  this  while  how  far  a wick- 
A wicked  man  obliged,  and  the  Stoics  tell 

is  incapable  of  US,  at  last,  that  he  cannot  be  obliged  at  all. 

a benefit.  make  him  incapable  of  any  good, 

and  consequently  of  any  benefit.  But  he  has  this  advantage, 
that  if  he  cannot  be  obliged,  he  cannot  be  ungrateful : for, 
if  he  eannot  receive,  he  is  not  bound  to  return.  On  the 
other  side,  a good  man  and  an  ungrateful,  are  a contradic- 
tion : so  that  at  this  rate  there  is  no  such  thing  as  ingrati- 
tude in  nature.  They  compare  a wicked  man’s  mind  to  a 
vitiated  stomach ; he  corrupts  whatever  he  receives,  and  the 
best  nourishment  turns  to  the  disease.  But  taking  this  for 
granted,  a wicked  man  may  yet  so  far  be  obliged  as  to  pass 
for  ungrateful,  if  he  does  not  requite  what  he  receives : for 
though  it  be  not  a perfect  benefit,  yet  he  receives  something 
like  it.  There  are  goods  of  the  mind,  the  body,  and  of  for- 
tune. Of  the  first  sort,  fools  and  wicked  men  are  wholly 
incapable ; to  the  rest  they  may  be  admitted.  But  why 
should  I call  any  man  ungrateful,  you  will  say,  for  not  re- 
storing that  which  1 deny  to  be  a benefit ! I answer,  that 
if  the  receiver  take  it  for  a benefit,  and  fails  of  a return,  it 
is  ingratitude  in  him : for  that  which  goes  for  an  obligation 
among  wicked  men,  is  an  obligation  upon  them : and  they 
may  pay  one  another  in  their  own  coin ; the  money  is  cur- 
rent, whether  it  be  gold  or  leather,  when  it  comes  once  to 
be  authorized.  Nay,  Cleanthes  carries  it  farther ; he  that 
is  wanting,  says  he,  to  a kind  office,  though  it  be  no  benefit, 
would  have  done  the  same  thing  if  it  had  been  one ; and  is 
as  guilty  as  a thief  is,  that  has  set  his  booty,  and  is  already 
armed  and  mounted  with  a purpose  to  seize  it,  though  he 
has  not  yet  drawn  blood.  Wickedness  is  formed  in  the 
heart;  and  the  matter  of  fact  is  only  the  discovery  and  the 
execution  of  it.  Now,  though  a wicked  man  cannot  either 
receive  or  bestow  a benefit,  because  he  wants  the  will  of 
doing  good,  and  for  that  he  is  no  longer  wicked,  when  vir- 
tue has  taken  possession  of  him ; yet  we  commonly  call  it 
one,  as  we  call  a man  illiterate  that  is  not  learned,  and 
naked  that  is  not  well  clad ; not  but  that  the  one  can  read, 
and  the  other  is  covered. 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


59 


CHAP.  XV. 

A general  view  of  the  parts  and  duties  of  the  benefactoj 

The  three  main  points  in  the  question  of  benefits  arc, 
first,  a.  judicious  choice  in  the  object;  secondly,  in  the  mat- 
ter of  our  benevolence;  and  thirdly,  a grateful /eZicity  in 
the  manner  of  expressing  it.  But  there  are  also  incumbent 
upon  the  benefactor  other  considerations,  which  will  deserve 
a place  in  this  discourse. 

It  is  not  enough  to  do  one  good  turn,  and  to  do  if  with  a 
good  grace  too,  unless  we  follow  it  with  more, 
and  without  either  upbraiding  or  repining,  must  be  foi- 
It  is  a common  shift,  to  charge  that  upon  the  lowed  without 
ingratitude  of  the  receiver,  which,  in  truth,  is  “•’re'pini'nf. 
most  commonly  the  levity  and  indiscretion  of 
bhe  giver ; for  all  circumstances  must  be  duly  weighed  ta 
consummate  the  action.  Some  there  are  that  we  find  un 
grateful;  but  what  with  our  frowardness,  change  of  humor 
and  reproaches,  there  are  more  that  we  make  so.  And  this 
is  the  business : we  give  with  design,  and  most  to  those 
that  are  able  to  give  most  again,  We  give  to  the  covetous, 
and  to  the  ambitious;  to  those  that  can  never  be  thankful, 
(for  their  desires  are  insatiable,)  and  to  those  that  will  not. 
He  that  is  a tribune  would  be  praetor ; the  praetor,  a consul ; 
never  reflecting  upon  what  he  was,  but  only  looking  for- 
ward to  what  he  would  be.  People  are  still  computing. 
Must  I lose  this  or  that  benefit  ? If  it  be  lost,  the  fault  lies 
in  the  ill  bestowing  of  it;  for  rightly  placed,  it  is  as  good 
as  consecrated ; if  we  be  deceived  in  another,  let  us  not  be 
deceived  in  ourselves  too.  A charitable  man  will  mend  the 
matter:  and  say  to  himself.  Perhaps  he  has  forgot  it,  per- 
chance he  could  not,  perhaps  he  will  yet  requite  it.  A pa- 
tient creditor  will,  of  an  ill  pay  master,  in  time  make  a good 
one ; an  obstinate  goodness  overcomes  an  ill  disposition,  as 
a barren  soil  is  made  fruitful  by  care  and  tillage.  But  let 
a man  be  never  so  ungrateful  or  inhuman,  he  shall  never 
destroy  the  satisfaction  of  my  having  done  a good  office. 

But  what  if  others  will  be  wicked  1 does  it  follow  that 
we  must  be  so  tool  If  others  will  be  ungrate-  pp^. 

ful,  must  we  therefore  be  inhuman  I To  give  severe  in  doing 
and  to  lose,  is  nothing ; but  to  lose  and  to  give 
sidl,  is  the  part  of  a great  mind.  And  the  other’s  in  effect 


60 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


IS  the  greater  loss ; for  the  one  does  but  lose  his  benefit, 
and  the  otlier  loses  himself.  The  light  shines  upon  the  pro- 
fane and  sacrilegious  as  well  as  upon  the  righteous.  How 
many  disappointments  do  we  meet  with  in  our  wives  and 
children,  and  yet  we  couple  still  1 He  that  has  lost  one  bat- 
tle hazards  another.  The  mariner  puts  to  sea  again  after 
a wreck.  An  illustrious  mind  does  not  propose  the  profit 
of  a good  office,  but  the  duty.  If  the  v/orld  be  wicked,  we 
should  yet  persevere  in  well-doing,  even  among  evil  men. 
1 had  rather  never  receive  a kindness  than  never  bestow 
one  : not  to  return  a benefit  is  the  greater  sin,  but  not  to 
confer  it  is  the  earlier.  We  cannot  propose  to  ourselves  a 
more  glorious  example  than  that  of  the  Almighty,  who 
neither  needs  nor  expects  any  thing  from  us ; and  yet  he  is 
continually  showering  down  and  distributing  his  mercies 
and  his  grace  among  us,  not  only  for  our  necessities,  but 
also  for  our  delights;  as  fruits  and  seasons,  rain  and  sun- 
shine, veins  of  water  and  of  metal;  and  all  this  to  the 
wicked  as  well  as  to  the  good,  and  without  any  other  end 
than  the  common  benefit  of  the  receivers.  With  what 
face  then  can  we  be  mercenary  one  to  another,  that  have 
received  all  things  from  Divine  Providence  gratis?  It  is  a 
common  saying,  “ I gave  such  or  such  a man  so  much  money; 
I would  I had  thrown  it  into  the  sea and  yet  the  mer- 
chant trades  again  after  a piracy,  and  the  banker  ventures 
afresh  after  a bad  security.  He  that  will  do  no  good  offices 
after  a disappointment,  must  stand  still,  and  do  just  nothing 
at  all.  The  plow  goes  on  after  a barren  year:  and  while 
the  ashes  are  yet  warm,  we  raise  a new  house  upon  the 
ruins  of  a former.  What  obligations  can  be  greater  than 
those  which  children  receive  from  their  parents]  and  yet 
should  we  give  them  over  in  their  infancy,  it  were  all  to 
no  purpose.  Benefits,  like  grain,  must  be  followed  from 
the  seed  to  the  harvest.  I will  not  so  much  as  leave  any 
place  for  ingratitude.  I will  pursue,  and  I will  encompass 
the  receiver  with  benefits;  so  that  let  him  look  which  way 
he  will,  his  benefactor  shall  be  still  in  his  eye,  even  when 
he  would  avoid  his  own  memory : and  then  I will  remit  to 
one  man  because  he  calls  for  it;  to  another,  because  he  does 
not;  to  a third,  because  he  is  wicked;  and  to  a fourth,  be- 
cause he  is  the  contrary.  I will  cast  away  a good  turn 
upon  a bad  man,  and  I will  requite  a good  one ; the  one 
because  it  is  my  duty,  and  the  other  that  I may  not  be  in 
debt.  I do  not  love  to  heai  any  man  complain  that  he  has 


SENECA.  OF  BENEFITS, 


61 


met  with  a thankless  man.  If  he  has  met  but  witli  one,  he 
has  either  been  very  fortunate  or  very  careful.  And  yet  care 
is  not  sufficient : for  there  is  no  way  to  escape  the  hazard  of 
losing  a benefit  but  the  not  bestowing  of  it,  and  to  neglect 
a duty  to  myself  for  fear  another  should  abuse  it.  It  is  an- 
other's fault  if  he  be  ungrateful,  but  it  is  mine  if  I do  not 
give.  To  find  one  thankful  man,  I will  oblige  a great  many 
that  are  not  so.  The  business  of  mankind  would  be  at  a 
Stand,  if  we  should  do  nothing  for  fear  of  miscarriages  in 
matters  of  certain  event.  I will  try  and  believe  all  things, 
before  I give  any  man  over,  and  do  all  that  is  possible  that 
I may  not  lose  a good  office  and  a friend  together.  What  do 
I know  but  he  may  misunderstand  the  obligation  ? business 
may  hove  put  it  out^of  his  head,  or  taken  him  off  from  it : 
he  may  have  slipt  his  opportunity.  I will  say,  in  excuse  of 
human  weakness,  that  one  man’s  memory  is  not  sufficient 
for  all  things ; it  is  but  a limited  capacity,  so  as  to  hold  only 
so  much,  and  no  more : and  when  it  is  once  full,  it  must  let 
out  part  of  what  it  had  to  take  in  any  thing  beside ; and  the 
last  benefit  ever  sits  closest  to  us.  In  our  youth  we  forget 
the  obligations  of  our  infancy,  and  when  we  are  men  we 
forget  those  of  our  youth.  If  nothing  will  prevail,  let  him 
keep  what  he  has  and  welcome ; but  let  him  have  a care 
of  returning  evil  for  good,  and  making  it  dangerous  for  a 
man  to  do  his  duty.  I would  no  more  give  a benefit  for 
such  a man,  than  I would  lend  money  to  a beggarly  spend- 
ffirift ; or  deposit  any  in  the  hands  of  a known  knight  of  the 
post.  However  the  case  stands,  an  ungrateful  person  is 
never  the  better  for  a reproach ; if  he  be  already  hardened 
in  his  wickedness,  he  gives  no  heed  to  it;  and  if  he  be  not, 
it  turns  a doubtful  modesty  into  an  incorrigible  impudence : 
beside  that,  he  watches  for  all  ill  words  to  pick  a quarrel 
with  them. 

As  the  benefactor  is  not  to  upbraid  a benefit,  so  neither  to 
delay  it : the  one  is  tiresome,  and  the  other  odious.  We  must 
not  hold  men  in  hand,  as  physicians  and  sur- ^ 
geons  do  their  patients,  and  keep  them  longer  no  delay  in  the 
in  fear  and  pain  than  needs,  only  to  magnify  doing  of  a 
the  cure.  A generous  man  gives  easily,  and  *>enefit. 
receives  as  he  gives,  but  never  exacts.  He  rejoices  in  the 
return,  and  judges  favorably  of  it  whatever  it  be,  and  con- 
tents himself  with  bare  thanks  for  a requital.  It  is  a harder 
matter  with  some  to  get  the  benefit  after  it  is  promised  than 
F 


62 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


the  first  promise  of  it,  there  must  be  so  many  friends  made 
in  the  case.  One  must  be  desired  to  solicit  another;  and 
he  must  be  entreated  to  move  a third ; and  a fourth  must 
be  at  last  besoug-ht  to  receive  it;  so  that  the  author,  upon 
the  upshot,  has  the  least  share  in  the  obligation.  It  is  then 
welcome  when  it  comes  free,  and  without  deduction;  and 
no  man  either  to  intercept  or  hinder,  or  to  detain  it.  And 
let  it  be  of  such  a quality  too,  that  it  be  not  only  delightful 
in  the  receiving,  but  after  it  is  received ; whicli  it  will  cer- 
tainly be,  if  we  do  but  observe  this  rule,  never  to  do  any 
thing  for  another  which  we  would  not  honestly  desire  for 
ourselves. 


CHAP.  XVI. 

How  the  receiver  ought  to  behave  himself. 

There  are  certain  rules  in  common  betwixt  the  giver  and 
the  receiver.  We  must  do  both  cheerfully,  that  the  giver 
may  receive  the  fruit  of  his  benefit  in  the  very  act  of  bestow- 
ing it.  It  is  a just  ground  of  satisfaction  to  see  a friend 
pleased;  but  it  is  much  more  to  make  him  so.  The  intention 
of  the  one  is  to  be  suited  to  the  intention  of  the  other;  and 
there  must  be  an  emulation  betwixt  them,  whether  shall 
oblige  most.  Let  the  one  say,  that  he  has  received  a benefit, 
and  let  the  other  persuade  himself  that  he  has  not  returned 
it.  Let  the  one  say,  I am  paid,  and  the  other,  I am  yet  in 
your  debt;  let  the  benefactor  acquit  the  receiver,  and  the  re- 
ceiver bind  himself.  The  frankness  of  the  discharge  height- 
ens the  obligation.  It  is  in  conversation  as  in  a tennis-court ; 
benefits  are  to  be  tossed  like  balls;  the  longer  the  rest,  the 
better  are  the  gamesters.  The  giver,  in  some  respect,  has  the 
odds,  because  (as  in  a race)  he  starts  first,  and  the  other  must 
use  great  diligence  to  overtake  him.  The  return  must  be 
larger  than  the  first  obligation  to  come  up  to  it;  and  it  is  a 
kind  of  ingratitude  not  to  render  it  with  interest.  In  a mat 
ter  of  money,  it  is  a common  thing  to  pay  a debt  out  of 
course,  and  before  it  be  due;  but  we  account  ourselves  U 
owe  nothing  for  a good  office ; whereas  the  benefit  increase» 
bv  delay.  So  insensible  are  we  of  the  most  important  affai» 
ot  human  life!  That  man  were  doubtless  in  a miserable  con 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


6.*} 


dition,  that  could  neither  see,  nor  hear,  nor  taste,  nor  feel, 
nor  smell;  but  how  much  more  unhappy  is  he  then  that, 
wanting  a sense  of  benefits,  loses  the  greatest  comfort  in 
nature  in  the  bliss  of  giving  and  receiving  them  1 He  that 
takes  a benefit  as  it  is  meant  is  in  the  right ; for  the  bene- 
factor has  then  his  end,  and  his  only  end,  when  the  receiver 
is  grateful. 

The  more  glorious  part,  in  appearance,  is  that  of  the  giver; 
but  the  receiver  has  undoubtedly  the  harder  xhe  receiver 
game  to  play  in  many  regards.  There  are  some  has  the  iiarder 
from  whom  I would  not  accept  of  a benefit ; 
that  is  to  say,  from  tliose  upon  whom  I would  not  bestow 
one.  For  wliy  should  I not  scorn  to  receive  a benefit  where 
I am  ashamed  to  own  it  I and  I would  yet  be  more  tender 
too,  where  I receive,  than  where  I give ; for  it  is  no  tor- 
ment to  be  in  debt  where  a man  has  no  mind  to  pay ; as  it 
is  the  greatest  delight  imaginable  to  be  engaged  by  a friend, 
whom  I should  yet  have  a kindness  for;  if  I were  never  so 
much  disobliged.  It  is  a pain  to  an  honest  and  a generous 
mind  to  lie  under  a duty  of  affection  against  inclination. 
I do  not  speak  here  of  wise  men,  that  love  to  do  what  they 
ought  to  do;  that  have  their  passions  at  command;  that 
prescribe  laws  to  themselves,  and  keep  them  when  they  have 
done ; but  of  men  in  a state  of  imperfection,  that  may  have 
a good  will  perhaps  to  be  honest,  and  yet  be  overborne  by 
the  contumacy  of  their  affections.  We  must  therefore  have 
a care  to  whom  we  become  obliged  ; and  I would  be  much 
stricter  yet  in  the  choice  of  a creditor  for  benefits  than  for 
money.  In  the  one  case,  it  is  but  paying  what  I had,  and 
the  debt  is  discharged ; in  the  other,  I do  not  only  owe 
more,  but  when  I have  paid  that,  I am  still  in  arrear : and 
this  law  is  the  very  foundation  of  friendship.  I will  suppose 
myself  a prisoner;  and  a notorious  villain  offers  to  la)'  down 
a good  sum  of  money  for  my  redemption.  First,  Shall  I 
make  use  of  this  money  or  not]  Secondly,  If  I do,  wha 
return  shall  I make  him  for  it]  To  the  first  point,  I will 
take  it;  but  only  as  a debt;  not  as  a benefit,  that  shall  ever 
lie  me  to  a friendship  with  him  ; and,  secondly,  my  acknow- 
ledgment shall  be  only  correspondent  to  such  an  obligation. 
It  is  a school  question,  whether  or  not  Brutus,  that  thought 
Ca2sar  not  fit  to  live,  (and  put  himself  at  the  head  of  a con- 
spiracy against  him,)  could  honestly  have  received  his  life 
from  Caesar,  if  he  liad  fallen  into  Caesar’s  power,  without 


G4 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


examining  what  reason  moved  him  to  that  action  1 How  great 
a man  soever  he  was  in  other  cases,  without  dispute  he  was 
extremely  out  in  this,  and  below  the  dignity  of  his  profession. 
For  a Stoic  to  fear  the  name  of  a king,  when  yet  monarchy 
IS  the  best  state  of  government;  or  there  to  hope  for  liberty, 
where  so  great  rewards  are  propounded,  both  for  tyrants  and 
their  slaves ; for  him  to  imagine  ever  to  bring  the  laws  to 
their  former  state,  where  so  many  thousand  lives  had  been 
lost  in  the  contest,  not  so  much  whether  they  should  serve 
or  not,  but  wbo  should  be  their  master : he  was  strangely 
mistaken,  in  the  nature  and  reason  of  things,  to  fancy,  that 
when  Julius  was  gone,  somebody  else  would  not  start  up 
m his  place,  when  there  was  yet  a Tarquin  found,  after  so 
many  kings  that  were  destroyed,  either  by  sword  or  thun- 
der : and  yet  the  resolution  is,  that  he  might  have  received 
t,  but  not  as  a benefit;  for  at  that  rate  I owe  my  life  to 
very  man  that  does  not  take  it  away. 

Graecinus  Julius  (whom  Caligula  put  to  death  out  of  a 
A benefit  re-  nialice  to  his  virtue)  had  a considerable 

fused  for  the  sum  of  money  sent  him  from  Fabius  Persicus 
person.  g^eat  and  infamous  example)  as  a 

contribution  towards  the  expense  of  plays  and  other  public 
entertainments;  but  Julius  would  not  receive  it;  and  some 
of  his  friends  that  had  an  eye  more  upon  the  present  than 
the  presenter,  asked  him,  with  some  freedom,  what  he  meant 
by  refusing  it  ] “ Why,”  says  he,  “ do  you  think  that  I will  take 
money  where  I would  not  take  so  much  as  a glass  of  wine  3” 
After  this  Rebilus  (a  man  of  the  same  stamp)  sent  liim  a 
greater  sum  upon  the  same  score.  “ You  must  excuse  me,” 
says  he  to  the  messenger,  “for  I would  not  take  any  thing 
of  Persicus  neither.” 

To  match  this  scruple  of  receiving  money  with  another 
of  keeping  it ; and  the  sum  not  above  three 
A Pythagorean  pg^ce,  or  a groat  at  most.  There  was  a cer- 
tain Pythagorean  that  contracted  with  a cobbler 
for  a pair  of  shoes,  and  some  three  or  four  days  after,  going 
to  pay  him  his  money,  the  shop  was  shut  up;  and  when  he 
had  knocked  a great  while  at  the  door,  “Friend,”  says  a 
fellow,  “you  may  hammer  your  heart  out  there,  for  the  man 
that  you  look  for  is  dead.  And  when  our  friends  are  dead, 
we  hear  no  more  news  of  them ; but  yours,  that  are  to  live 
again,  will  shift  well  enough,”  (alluding  to  Pythagoras’s 
transmigration  ) Upon  this  the  philosopher  went  away,  with 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


65 


his  money  chinking  in  his  hand,  and  well  enough  content 
to  save  it:  at  last,  his  conscience  took  check  at  it;  and, 
upon  reflection,  “ Though  the  man  be  dead,”  says  he,  “ to 
others,  he  is  alive  to  thee ; pay  him  what  thou  owest  him 
and  so  he  went  back  presently,  and  thrust  it  into  his  shop 
through  the  chink  of  the  door.  Whatever  we  owe,  it  is 
our  part  to  find  where  to  pay  it,  and  to  do  it  without  asking 
too;  for  whether  the  creditor  be  good  or  bad,  the  debt  is 
still  the  same. 

If  a benefit  be  forced  upon  me,  as  from  a tyrant,  or  a su- 
perior, where  it  may  be  dangerous  to  refuse, 
this  is  rather  obeying  than  receiving,  where  ^ * 

the  necessity  destroys  the  choice.  The  way  to  know  what  1 
have  a mind  to  do,  is  to  leave  me  at  liberty  whether  I v iU 
do  it  or  not;  but  it  is  yet  a benefit,  if  a man  does  me  gicd 
in  spite  of  my  teeth ; as  it  is  none,  if  I do  any  man  ijood 
against  my  will.  A man  may  both  hate  and  yet  receive  a 
benefit  at  the  same  time ; the  money  is  never  the  worse, 
because  a fool  that  is  not  read  in  coins  refuses  to  faiie  it. 
If  the  thing  be  good  for  the  receiver,  and  so  intended,  no 
matter  how  ill  it  is  taken.  Nay,  the  receiver  may  be 
obliged,  and  not  know  it;  but  there  can  be  no  bei'eht  which 
is  unknown  to  the  giver.  Neither  will  I,  upon  any  terms, 
receive  a benefit  from  a worthy  person  that  ir^y  do  him  a 
mischief : it  is  the  part  of  an  enemy  to  save  hii.i..clf  by  doing 
another  man  harm. 

But  whatever  we  do,  let  us  be  sure  always  to  keep  a 
grateful  mind.  It  is  not  enough  to  say,  wliat  Keep  a grateful 
requital  shall  a poor  man  offer  to  a prince ; or  mind, 
a slave  to  his  patron;  when  it  is  the  glory  of  gratitude  that 
it  depends  only  upon  the  good  will  1 Suppose  a man  defends 
my  fame;  delivers  me  from  beggary;  saves  my  life;  or 
gives  me  liberty,  that  is  more  than  life;  how  shall  I be 
grateful  to  that  man!  I will  receive,  cherish,  and  rejoice  in 
the  benefit.  Take  it  kindly,  and  it  is  requited  : not  that  the 
debt  itself  is  discharged,  but  it  is  nevertheless  a discharge 
of  the  conscience.  I will  yet  distinguish  betwixt  the  debtor 
that  becomes  insolvent  by  expenses  upon  whores  a.nd  dice, 
and  another  that  is  undone  by  fire  or  thieves ; nor  do  I take 
this  gratitude  for  a payment ; but  there  is  no  danger,  I pre- 
sume, of  being  arrested  for  such  a debt. 

In  the  return  of  benefits  let  us  be  ready  and  cheerful 
F2 


06 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


but  not  pressing.  There  is  as  much  greatness 
mind  in  the  owing  of  a good  turn  as  in 
not  iniportu-  doing  of  it;  and  we  must  no  more  force  a 
”Viirnin*'of'^  requital  out  of  season  than  be  wanting  in  it. 
benctits.  He  that  precipitates  a return,  does  as  good  as 
say,  “ I am  weary  of  being  in  this  man’s  debt 
not  but  that  the  hastening  of  a requital,  as  a good  office,  is 
a commendable  disposition,  but  it  is  another  thing  to  do 
as  a discharge;  for  it  looks  like  casting  off  a heavy  ano 
a troublesome  burden.  It  is  for  the  benefactor  to  say  when 
he  will  receive  it;  no  matter  for  the  opinion  of  the  world, 
so  long  as  I gratify  my  own  conscience;  for  I cannot  be 
mistaken  in  myself,  but  another  may. — He  that  is  over- 
solicitous  to  return  a benefit,  thinks  the  other  so  likewise  to 
receive  it.  If  he  had  rather  we  should  keep  it,  why  should 
we  refuse,  and  presume  to  dispose  of  his  treasure,  who  may 
call  it  in,  or  let  it  lie  out,  at  his  choice?  It  is  as  much  t. 
fault  to  receive  what  I ought  not,  as  not  to  give  what  I 
ought:  for  the  giver  has  the  privilege  of  choosing  his  own 
time  for  receiving. 

Some  are  too  proud  in  the  conferring  of  benefits;  others, 
in  the  receiving  of  them  ; which  is,  to  say  the 
There  must  be  truth,  intolerable.  The  same  rule  serves  both 
in  the  confer-  Sides,  as  in  the  case  or  a latiier  and  a son ; 
liuR  or  in  Uie  a husband  and  a wife ; one  friend  or  acquaint- 
’^“e'nefifs?  ance  and  another,  where  the  duties  are  known 
and  common.  There  are  some  that  will  not 
receive  a benefit  but  in  private,  nor  thank  you  for  it  but  in 
your  ear,  or  in  a corner;  there  must  be  notiiing  under  hand 
and  seal,  no  brokers,  notaries,  or  witnesses,  in  the  case: 
this  is  not  so  much  a scruple  of  modesty  as  a kind  of  deny- 
ing the  obligation,  and  only  a less  hardened  ingratitude. 
Some  receive  benefits  so  coldly  and  indifferently,  that  a 
man  would  think  the  obligation  lay  on  the  other  side:  as 
who  should  say,  “ Well,  since  you  will  needs  have  it  so,  I 
am  content  to  take  it.”  Some  again  so  carelessly,  as  if 
they  hardly  knew  of  any  such  thing,  whereas  we  should 
rather  aggravate  the  matter : “ You  cannot  imagine  how 
many  you  have  obliged  in  this  act : there  never  was  so  great, 
so  kind,  so  seasonable  a courtesy.”  Furnius  never  gained 
so  much  upon  Augustus  as  by  a speech,  upon  the  getting 
of  his  fathers  pardon  for  siding  with  Antony : “ This 
grace  ” says  he,  “ is  the  only  injury  that  ever  Caesar  did 
me : for  it  has  put  me  upon  a necessity  of  living  and  dying 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


67 


nn^rateful.”  It  is  safer  to  affront  some  people  than  to  oblige 
them;  for  the  better  a man  deserves,  the  worse  they  will 
speak  of  him:  as  if  the  possessing  of  open  hatred  to  their 
benefactors  were  an  argument  that  they  lie  under  no  obli- 
gation. Some  people  are  so  sour  and  ill-natured,  that  they 
take  it  for  an  affront  to  have  an  obligation  or  a return  of- 
fered them,  to  the  discouragement  both  of  bounty  and  of 
gratitude  together.  The  not  doing,  and  the  not  receiving 
of  benefits,  are  equally  a mistake.  He  that  refuses  a new 
one,  seems  to  be  offended  at  an  old  one : and  yet  sometimes 
I would  neither  return  a benefit,  no,  nor  so  much  as  receive 
it,  if  I might. 


CHAP.  XVIL 
Of  Gratitude. 

He  that  preaches  gratitude,  pleads  the  cause  both  of  God 
an'd  man ; for  without  it  we  can  neither  be  sociable  nor  re- 
ligious. There  is  a strange  delight  in  the  very  purpose  and 
contemplation  of  it,  as  well  as  in  the  action;  when  1 can  say 
to  myself,  “ I love  my  benefactor ; what  is  there  in  this 
world  that  I would  not  do  to  oblige  and  serve  him"!”  Where 
I have  not  the  means  of  a requital,  the  very  meditation  of  it 
is  sufficient.  A man  is  never  the  less  an  artist  for  not 
having  his  tools  about  him  ; or  a musician,  because  he  wants 
his  fiddle : nor  is  he  the  less  brave  because  his  hands  are 
bound ; or  the  worse  pilot  for  being  upon  dry  ground.  If  I 
have  only  will  to  be  grateful,  I am  so.  Let  me  be  upon  the 
wheel,  or  under  the  hand  of  the  executioner;  let  me  be 
burnt  limb  by  limb,  and  my  whole  body  dropping  in  the 
flames,  a good  conscience  supports  me  in  all  extremes;  nay, 
it  is  comfortable  even  in  death  itself;  for  when  we  come 
to  approach  that  point,  what  care  do  we  take  to  summon 
and  call  to  mind  all  our  benefactors,  and  the  good  offices 
they  have  done  us,  that  we  leave  the  world  fair,  and  set 
our  minds  in  order!  Without  gratitude,  we  can  neither 
have  security,  peace,  nor  reputation  : and  it  is  not  therefore 
the  less  desirable,  because  it  draws  many  adventitious 
benefits  along  with  it.  Suppose  the  sun,  tlie  moon,  and  the 
stars,  had  no  other  business  than  only  to  pass  over  out 
heads,  without  any  effect  upon  our  minds  or  bodies ; without 


68 


SEMICA  OF  benefits. 


any  regard  to  our  health,  fruits,  or  seasons ; a man  could 
hardly  lift  up  his  eyes  towards  the  heavens  without  wonder 
and  veneration,  to  see  so  many  millions  of  radiant  lights, 
and  to  observe  their  courses  and  revolutions,  everi  without 
any  respect  to  the  common  good  of  the  universe.  But  when 
we  come  to  consider  that  Providence  and  Nature  are  still 
at  work  when  we  sleep,  with  the  admirable  force  and  ope- 
ration of  their  influences  and  motions,  we  cannot  then  but 
acknowledge  their  ornament  to  be  the  least  part  of  their 
value;  and  that  they  are  more  to  be  esteemed  for  their 
virtues  than  for  their  splendor.  Their  main  end  and  use  is 
matter  of  life  and  necessity,  though  they  may  seem  to  us 
more  considerable  for  their  majesty  and  beauty.  And  so  it 
is  with  gratitude ; we  love  it  rather  for  secondary  ends, 
than  for  itself. 

No  man  can  be  grateful  without  contemning  those  things 
We  must  be  *^*'®^*'  P'^*'  common  people  out  of  their  wits. 

grateful  in  We  must  go  into  banishment;  laydown  our 
despite  of  all  lives;  beggar  and  expose  ourselves  to  re- 
oppositions.  pj.QjL(.],eg . j,ay^  it  ig  often  seen,  that  loyalty 
suffers  the  punishment  due  to  rebellion,  and  that  treason 
receives  the  rewards  of  fidelity.  As  the  benefits  of  it  are 
many  and  great,  so  are  the  hazards;  which  is  the  case 
more  or  less  of  all  other  virtues:  and  it  were  hard,  if  this, 
above  the  rest,  should  be  both  painful  and  fruitless:  so  that 
though  we  may  go  currently  on  with  it  in  a smooth  way,  we 
must  yet  prepare  and  resolve  (if  need  be)  to  force  our  pas- 
sage to  it,  even  if  the  way  were  covered  with  thorns  and 
serpents ; and  fall  back,  fall  edge,  we  must  be  grateful 
still : grateful  for  the  virtue’s  sake,  and  grateful  over  and 
above  upon  the  point  of  interest;  for  it  preserves  old  friends, 
and  gains  new  ones.  It  is  not  our  business  to  fish  for  one 
benefit  with  another;  and  by  bestowing  a little  to  get  more; 
or  to  oblige  for  any  sort  of  expedience,  but  because  I ought 
to  do  it,  and  because  I love  it,  and  that  to  such  a degree, 
that  if  1 could  not  be  grateful  without  appearing  the  con- 
trary, if  I could  not  return  a benefit  without  being  suspected 
of  doing  an  injury ; in  despite  of  infamy  itself,  I would  yet 
be  grateful.  No  man  is  greater  in  my  esteem  than  he  that 
ventures  the  fame  to  preserve  the  conscience  of  an  honest 
man ; the  one  is  but  imaginary,  the  other  solid  and  inesti- 
mable. I cannot  call  him  grateful,  who  in  the  instant  of  re- 
turning one  benefit  has  his  eye  upon  another.  He  that  is 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS.  G9 

grateful  for  profit  or  fear,  is  like  a woman  that  is  honest 
only  upon  the  score  of  reputation. 

As  gratitude  is  a necessary  and  a glorious,  so  is  it  also  an 
obvious,  a cheap,  and  an  easy  virtue  : so  ob-  g,.,titudc  is  an 
vious,  that  wheresoever  there  is  a life  there  obvious,  a' 
i^ a place  for  it:  so  cheap,  that  the  covetous  cheap,  and  an 
man  may  be  grateful  without  expense ; and  so 
easy,  that  the  sluggard  may  be  so  likewise  without  labor. 
And  yet  it  is  not  without  its  niceties  too;  for  there  may  be 
a time,  a place  or  occasion,  wherein  1 ought  not  to  return  a 
benefit ; nay,  wherein  I may  better  disown  it  than  deliver  it. 

Let  it  be  understood,  by  the  way,  that  it  is  one  thing  to 
be  grateful  tor  a good  office,  and  another  thing  jt  is  one  thing 
to  return  it : the  good-will  is  enough  in  one  to  be  grateful 
case,  being  as  much  as  the  one  side  demands,  a°nd\nother 
and  the  other  promises ; but  the  effect  is  re-  thing  to  return 
quisite  in  the  other.  The  physician  that  has 
done  his  best  is  acquitted  though  the  patient  dies,  and  so  is 
the  advocate,  though  the  client  may  lose  his  cause.  The 
general  of  an  army,  though  the  battle  be  lost,  is  yet  wortliy 
of  commendation,  if  he  has  discharged  all  the  parts  of  a 
prudent  commander ; in  this  case,  the  i.  a acquits  himself, 
though  the  other  be  never  the  better  for  it.  He  is  a grate- 
ful man  that  is  always  willing  and  ready : and  be  that  seeks 
for  all  means  and  occasions  of  requiting  a benefit,  though 
without  attaining  his  end,  does  a great  deal  more  than  the 
man  that,  without  any  trouble,  makes  an  immediate  return. 
Suppose  my  friend  a prisoner,  and  that  I have  sold  my  es- 
tate for  his  ransom ; I put  to  sea  in  foul  weather,  and  upon 
a coast  that  is  pestered  with  pirates;  my  friend  happens  to 
be  redeemed  before  I come  to  the  place ; my  gratitude  is 
as  much  to  be  esteemed  as  if  he  had  been  a prisoner;  and 
if  I had  been  taken  and  robbed  myself,  it  would  still  have 
been  the  same  case.  Nay,  there  is  a gratitude  in  the  very 
countenance ; for  an  honest  man  bears  his  conscience  in  his 
face,  and  propounds  the  requital  of  a good  turn  in  the  very 
moment  of  receiving  it ; he  is  cheerful  and  confident ; and, 
in  the  possession  of  a true  friendship,  delivered  from  ail 
anxiety.  There  is  this  difference  betwixt  a thankful  man 
and  an  unthankful,  the  one  is  always  pleased  in  the  good 
he  has  done,  and  the  other  only  once  in  what  he  has  re- 
ceived. There  must  be  a benignity  in  the  estimation  even 
of  the  smallest  offices ; and  such  a modesty  as  appears  to 
be  obliged  in  whatsoever  it  gives.  As  it  is  indeed  a very 


70 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS 


great  benefit,  the  opportunity  of  doing  a good  office  to  a 
worthy  man.  He  that  attends  to  the  present,  and  remem- 
bers what  is  past,  shall  never  be  ungrateful.  But  who  shall 
judge  in  the  easel  for  a man  may  be  grateful  without 
making  a return,  and  ungrateful  with  it.  Our  best  way  is 
to  help  every  thing  by  a fair  interpretation ; and  whereso- 
ever there  is  a doubt,  to  allow  it  the  most  favorable  con- 
struction ; for  he  that  is  exceptions  at  words,  or  looks,  has 
a mind  to  pick  a quarrel.  For  my  own  part,  when  I come  to 
cast  up  my  account,  and  know  what  I owe,  and  to  whom, 
though  I make  my  return  sooner  to  some,  and  later  to 
others,  as  occasion  or  fortune  will  give  me  leave,  yet  I will 
be  just  to  all.  I will  be  grateful  to  God,  to  man,  to  those 
that  have  obliged  me  : nay,  even  to  those  that  have  obliged 
my  friends.  I am  bound  in  honor  and  in  conscience  to  be 
thankful  for  what  I have  received  ; and  if  it  be  not  yet  full, 
it  is  some  pleasure  still  that  I may  hope  for  more.  For  the 
requital  of  a favor  there  must  be  virtue,  occasion,  means, 
and  fortune. 

It  is  a common  thing  to  screw  up  justice  to  the  pitch  of 
A man  may  be  ‘f’jury-  A man  may  be  over-righteous  ; 
overgiatefui  and  why  not  over-grateful  tool  There  is  a 
as  well  as  over-  mischievous  excess,  that  borders  so  close  upon 

rig  1 eous.  ingratitude,  that  it  is  no  easy  matter  to  distin- 
guish the  one  from  the  other:  but,  in  regard  that  there  is 
good-will  in  the  bottom  of  it,  (however  distempered,  for  it 
is  effectually  but  kindness  out  of  the  wits,)  we  shall  dis- 
course it  under  the  title  of  Gratitude  mistaken. 


CHAP.  XVIII. 

Gratitude  mistaken. 

To  refuse  a good  office,  not  so  much  because  wo  do  not 
need  it,  as  because  we  would  not  be  indebted  for  it,  is  a 
kind  of  fantastical  ingratitude,  and  somewhat  akin  to  that 
nicety  of  humor,  on  the  other  side,  of  being  over-grateful ; 
only  it  lies  another  way,  and  seems  to  be  the  more  pardona- 
ble ingratitude  of  the  two.  Some  people  take  it  for  a great 
instance  of  their  good-will  to  be  still  wishing  their  benefac 
tors  such  or  such  a mischief;  only,  forsooth,  that  they  them- 
selves may  be  the  happy  instruments  of  their  release.  These 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


71 


men  do  like  extravagant  lovers,  that  take  it  for  a great 
proof  of  their  affection  to  wish  one  another  banished,  beg- 
gared, or  diseased,  that  they  might  have  the  opportunity  of 
interposing  to  their  relief.  What  difference  is  there  be- 
twixt such  wishing  and  cursing]  such  an  affection  and  a 
mortal  hatred  ] The  intent  is  good,  you  will  say,  but  this 
is  a misapplication  of  it.  Let  such  a one  fall  into  my  power, 
or  into  the  hands  of  his  enemies,  his  creditors,  or  the  com- 
mon people,  and  no  mortal  be  able  to  rescue  him  but  myself : 
let  his  life,  his  liberty,  and  his  reputation,  lie  all  at  stake,  and 
no  creature  but  myself  in  condition  to  succor  him  ; and  why 
all  this,  but  because  he  has  obliged  me,  and  I would  requite 
him]  If  this  be  gratittide  to  propound  jails,  shackles, 
sla  very,  war,  beggary,  to  the  man  that  you  would  requite, 
what  would  you  do  where  you  are  ungrateful  ] This  way 
of  proceeding,  over  and  above  that  it  is  impious  in  itself,  is 
likewise  over-hasty  and  unseasonable  : for  he  that  goes  too 
fast  is  as  much  to  blame  as  he  that  does  not  move  at  all,  (to 
say  nothing  of  the  injustice,)  for  if  I had  never  been  obliged, 
I should  never  have  wished  it.  There  are  seasons  wherein 
a benefit  is  neither  to  be  received  nor  requited.  To  press  a 
return  upon  me  when  I do  not  desire  it,  is  unmannerly;  but 
it  is  worse  to  force  me  to  desire  it.  How  rigorous  would 
he  be  to  exact  a requital,  who  is  thus  eager  to  return  it ! 
To  wish  a man  in  distress  that  I may  relieve  him,  is  first  to 
wish  him  miserable : to  wish  that  he  may  stand  in  need  of 
any  body,  is  against  him ; and  to  wish  that  he  may  stand 
in  need  of  me,  is  for  myself:  so  that  my  business  i&  not  so 
much  a charity  to  my  friend  as  the  cancelling  of  a bond; 
nay,  it  is  half-way  the  wish  of  an  enemy.  It  is  barbarous 
to  wish  a man  in  chains,  slavery,  or  want,  only  to  bring  him 
out  again : let  me  rather  wish  him  powerful  and  hapjiy,  and 
myself  indebted  to  him.  By  nature  we  are  prone  to  mercy, 
humanity,  compassion  ; may  we  be  excited  to  be  moie  so  by 
I he  number  of  the  grateful ! may  their  number  increase,  and 
may  we  have  no  need  of  trying  them ! 

It  is  not  for  an  honest  man  to  make  way  to  a good  office 
hy  a crime:  as  if  a pilot  should  pray  for  3- ^ve  must  not  do 
tempest,  that  he  might  prove  his  skill : or  a an  ill  thing 
general  wish  his  army  routed,  that  he  may  that  ;»ay 
show  himself  a great  commander  in  recovering 
lilt!  day.  It  is  throwing  a man  into  a river  to  take  him  out 
again.  It  is  an  obligation,  I confess,  to  cure  a wound  or  a 
disease;  but  to  make  that  wound  or  disease  on  purpose  to 


72 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


cure  it,  is  a most  perverse  ingratitude.  It  is  barbarous  ever 
to  an  enemy,  much  more  to  a friend ; for  it  is  not  so  much 
to  do  him  a kindness,  as  to  put  him  in  need  of  it.  Of  the 
two,  let  it  be  rather  a scar  than  a wound ; and  yet  it  would 
be  better  to  have  it  neither.  Rome  had  been  little  beholden 
to  Scipio  if  he  had  prolonged  the  Punic  war  that  he  might 
have  the  finishing  of  it  at  last,  or  to  the  Decii  for  dying  for 
their  country,  if  they  had  first  brought  it  to  the  last  ex- 
tremity of  needing  their  devotion.  It  may  be-a  good  con- 
templation, but  it  is  a lewd  wish,  ^neas  had  never  been 
surnamed  the  Pious,  if  he  had  wished  the  ruin  of  his  coun- 
try, only  that  he  might  have  the  honor  of  taking  his  father 
out  of  the  fire.  It  is  the  scandal  of  a physician  to  make 
work,  and  irritate  a disease,  and  to  torment  his  patient,  for 
the  reputation  of  his  cure.  If  a man  should  openly  impre- 
cate poverty,  captivity,  fear,  or  danger,  upon  a person  that 
he  has  been  obliged  to,  would  not  the  whole  world  condemn 
him  for  it  ] And  what  is  the  difference,  but  the  one  is  only 
a private  wish,  and  the  other  a public  declaration  I Rutilius 
was  told  in  his  exile,  that,  for  his  comfort,  there  would  be 
ere-long  a civil  war,  that  would  bring  all  the  banished  men 
home  again.  “ God  forbid,”  says  he,  “ for  I had  rather  my 
country  should  blush  for  my  banishment  than  mourn  for  my 
return.”  How  much  more  honorable  is  it  to  owe  cheerfully, 
than  to  pay  dishonestly  1 It  is  the  wish  of  an  enemy  to  take 
a town  that  he  may  preserve  it,  and  to  be  victorious  that 
he  may  forgive ; but  *he  mercy  comes  after  the  cruelly ; be- 
side that  it  is  an  injury  both  to  God  and  man  ; for  the  man 
must  be  first  afflicted  by  Heaven  to  be  relieved  by  me.  So 
that  we  impose  the  cruelty  upon  God,  and  take  the  com- 
passion to  ourselves;  and  at  the  best,  it  is  but  a curse  that 
makes  way  for  a blessing ; the  bare  wish  is  an  injury ; and  if  it 
does  not  take  effect,  it  is  because  Heaven  has  not  heard  our 
prayers ; or  if  they  should  succeed,  the  fear  itself  is  a tor- 
ment; and  it  is  much  more  desirable  to  have  a firm  and  un- 
shaken security.  It  is  friendly  to  wish  it  in  your  power  to 
oblige  me,  if  ever  I chance  to  need  it;  but  it  is  unkind  to 
wish  me  miserable  that  I may  need  it.  How  much  more 
pious  is  it,  and  humane,  to  wish  that  I may  never  want  the 
occasion  of  obliging,  nor  the  means  of  doing  it ; nor  ever 
have  reason  to  repent  of  what  I have  done? 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


/3 


CHAP.  XIX. 

Of  Ingratitude. 

Ingratitxtde  is,  of  all  the  crimes,  that  which  we  are  ac- 
count the  most  venial  in  others,  and  the  most  unparo  inable 
in  ourselves.  It  is  impious  to  the  highest  degree ; .br  it 
makes  us  fight  against  our  children  and  our  altars.  There 
are,  there  ever  were,  and  there  ever  will  be,  criminali  of  all 
sorts;  as  murderers,  tyrants,  thieves,  adulterers,  tiaitors, 
robbers,  and  sacrilegious  persons;  but  there  is  hardly  any 
notorious  crime  without  a mixture  of  ingratitude.  It  disu- 
ni*es  mankind,  and  breaks  the  very  pillars  of  society.  And 
yet  so  far  is  this  prodigious  wickedness  from  being  an  / won- 
der to  us,  that  even  thankfulness  itself  were  nm^-h  the 
greater  of  the  two.  For  men  are  deterred  from  it  by  labor, 
expense,  laziness,  business;  or  else  diverted  from  it  by  lust, 
envy,  ambition,  pride,  levity,  rashness,  fear;  nay,  by  the 
very  shame  of  confessing  what  they  have  received.  And 
the  unthankful  man  has  nothing  to  say  for  himself  all  this 
while;  for  there  needs  neither  pains  or  fortune  for  the  dis- 
charge of  his  duty;  beside  the  inward  anxiety  and  liirment, 
when  a man’s  conscience  makes  him  afraid  of  iiis  own 
thoughts. 

To  speak  against  the  ungrateful  is  to  rail  against  man- 
kind ; for  even  those  that  complain  are  guilty ; vve  ar«  aii  un- 
nor  do  I speak  only  of  those  that  do  not  live  graveful. 
up  to  the  strict  rule  of  virtue ; but  mankind  itself  is  degene- 
rated and  lost.  We  live  unthankfully  in  this  world,  and  we 
go  struggling  and  murmuring  out  of  it;  dissatisfied  with  our 
lot;  whereas  we  should  be  grateful  for  the  blessings  we 
have  enjoyed,  and  account  that  sufficient  which  Providence 
has  provided  for  us ; a little  more  time  may  make  our  lives 
longer,  but  not  happier ; and  whensoever  it  is  the  pleasure 
of  God  to  call  us,  we  must  obey ; and  yet  all  this  while  we 
go  on  quarrelling  at  the  world  for  what  we  find  in  ourselves; 
and  we  are  yet  more  unthankful  to  Heaven  than  we  are  to 
one  another.  What  benefit  can  be  great  now  to  tiiat  man 
that  despises  the  bounties  of  his  Maker  1 We  would  be  as 
strong  as  elephants,  as  swift  as  bucks,  as  light  as  birds ; and 
we  complain  that  we  have  not  the  sagacity  of  dogs,  the  sight 
of  eagles,  the  long  life  of  ravens,  nay,  that  we  are  not  im- 
mortal, and  endued  with  the  knowledge  of  things  to  coma 


74 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


Nay  we  take  it  ill  that  we  are  not  gods  upon  earth ; never 
considering  the  advantages  of  our  condition,  or  the  benig- 
nity of  Providence  in  the  comforts  that  we  enjoy.  We 
subdue  the  strongest  of  creatures,  and  overtake  the  fleetest ; 
we  reclaim  the  fiercest,  and  outwit  the  craftiest.  We  are 
within  one  degree  of  heaven  itself,  and  yet  we  are  not  satis- 
fied. Since  there  is  not  any  one  creature  which  we  had 
rather  be,  we  take  it  ill  that  we  cannot  draw  the  united  ex- 
cellencies of  all  other  creatures  into  ourselves.  Why  are 
we  not  rather  thankful  to  that  goodness,  which  has  subjected 
the  whole  creation  to  our  use  and  service  1 

The  principal  causes  of  ingratitude  are  pride  and  self-con 
Causes  of  in-  ceit,  avarice,  envy,  &c.  It  is  a familiar  ex- 
gratitude. clamation,  “It  is  true,  he  did  this  or  that  for 
me,  but  it  came  so  late  and  it  was  so  little,  I had  even  as 
good  have  been  without  it : if  he  had  not  given  it  to  me,  he 
must  have  given  it  to  somebody  else ; it  was  nothing  out  of 
his  own  pocket:”  nay,  we  are  so  ungrateful,  that  he  that 
gives  us  all  we  have,  if  he  leaves  any  thing  to  himself,  we 
reckon  that  he  does  us  an  injury.  It  cost  Julius  Caesar  his 
life,  the  disappointment  of  his  insatiable  companions;  and 
yet  he  reserved  nothitigof  all  that  he  got  to  himself  but  the 
liberty  of  disposing  of  it.  There  is  no  benefit  so  large  but 
malignity  will  still  lessen  it ; none  so  narrow,  which  a good 
interpretation  wilt  not  enlarge.  No  man  shall  ever  be  grate- 
ful that  views  a benefit  on  the  wrong  side,  or  takes  a good 
office  by  the  wrong  handle.  The  avaricious  man  is  natu- 
rally ungrateful,  for  he  never  thinks  he  has  enough,  but, 
without  considering  what  he  has,  only  minds  what  he  covets. 
Some  pretend  want  of  power  to  make  a competent  return, 
and  you  shall  find  in  others  a kind  of  graceless  modesty,  that 
makes  a man  ashamed  of  requiting  an  obligation,  because  it 
is  a confession  that  he  has  received  one. 

Not  to  return  one  good  office  for  another  is  inhuman  ; but 
to  return  evil  for  good  is  diabolical.  There 
are  too  many  even  of  this  sort,  who,  the  more 
they  owe,  the  more  they  hate.  There  is  no- 
thing more  dangerous  than  to  oblige  those 
people;  for  when  they  are  conscious  of  not 
paying  the  debt,  they  wish  the  creditor  out  of 
'he  way.  It  is  a mortal  hatred,  that  which  arises  from  the 
sname  of  an  abused  benefit.  When  we  are  on  the  asking 
side,  what  a deal  of  cringing  there  is,  and  profession  ! “ Well, 
1 shall  never  forget  this  favor,  it  will  be  an  eternal  obliga- 


Not  to  return 
pood  for  pood 
is  inhuman : 
but  evil  for 
pood  is  dia- 
bolical. 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


75 


tion  to  me.”  But  within  a while  the  note  is  changed,  and 
we  hear  no  more  words  of  it,  until,  by  little  and  little,  it  is 
all  quite  forgotten.  So  long  as  we  stand  in  need  of  a bene- 
iit,  there  is  nothing  dearer  to  us;  nor  any  thing  cheaper, 
when  we  have  received  it.  And  yet  a man  may  as  well 
refuse  to  deliver  up  a sum  of  money  that  is  left  him  in  trust 
without  a suit,  as  not  to  return  a good  office  without  ask- 
ing ; and  when  we  have  no  value  any  farther  for  the  bene- 
fit, we  do  commonly  care  as  little  for  the  author.  People 
follow  their  interest : one  man  is  grateful  for  his  convenience, 
and  another  man  is  ungrateful  for  the  same  reason. 

Some  are  ungrateful  to  their  own  country,  and  their 
country  no  less  ungrateful  to  others  ; so  that 
the  complaint  of  ingratitude  reaches  all  men.  grateful  gov- 
Doth  not  the  son  wish  for  the  death  of  his  ernors  as  well 
father,  the  husband  for  that  of  his  wife,  &c. 

But  who  can  look  for  gratitude  in  an  age  of  so 
many  gaping  and  craving  appetites,  where  all  people  take, 
and  none  givel  In  an  age  of  license  to  all  sorts  of  vanity 
and  wickedness,  as  lust,  gluttony,  avarice,  envy,  ambition, 
sloth,  insolence,  levity,  contumacy,  fear,  rashness,  private 
discords  and  public  evils,  extravagant  and  groundless  wishes, 
vain  confidences,  sickly  affections,  shameless  impieties, 
rapine  authorized,  and  the  violation  of  all  things,  sacred  and 
profane  : obligations  are  pursued  with  sword  and  poison ; 
benefits  are  turned  into  crimes,  and  that  blood  most  sedi- 
tiously spilt  for  which  every  honest  man  should  expose  his 
own.  Those  that  should  be  the  preservers  of  their  country 
are  the  destroyers  of  it;  and  it  is  a matter- of  dignity  to 
trample  upon  the  government:  the  sword  gives  the  law, 
and  mercenaries  take  up  arms  against  their  masters.  Among 
these  turbulent  and  unruly  motions,  what  hope  is  there  of 
finding  honesty  or  good  faith,  which  is  the  quietest  of  all 
virtues'!  There  is  no  more  lively  image  of  human  life  than 
that  of  a conquered  city ; there  is  neither  mercy,  modesty, 
nor  religion ; and  if  we  forget  our  lives,  we  may  well  for- 
get our  benefits.  The  world  abounds  with  examples  of  un- 
grateful persons,  and  no  less  with  those  of  ungrateful  gov- 
ernments. Was  not  Catiline  ungrateful ! whose  malice 
aimed,  not  only  at  the  mastering  of  his  country,  but  at  the 
total  destruction  of  it,  by  calling  in  an  inveterate  and  vin- 
dictive enemy  from  beyond  the  Alps,  to  wreak  their  long- 
thirsted-for  revenge,  and  to  sacrifice  the  lives  of  as  many 
noble  Romans  as  might  serve  to  answer  and  appease  the 


76 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


jrhosts  of  the  s.aughtered  Gauls'!  Was  not  Marius  ungrate- 
ful, that,  from  a comnioii  soldier,  being  raised  up  to  a consul, 
not  only  gave  the  word  for  civil  bloodshed  and  massacres, 
but  was  liimself  the  sign  for  the  execution;  and  every  man 
he  met  in  the  streets,  to  whom  he  did  not  stretch  out  his 
right  hand,  was  murdered  ! And  was  not  Sylla  ungrateful 
too!  that  when  he  had  waded  up  to  the  gates  in  human 
blood,  carried  the  outrage  into  the  city,  and  there  most 
barbarously  cut  two  entire  legions  to  pieces  in  a corner, 
not  only  after  the  victory,  but  most  perfidiously  after  quar- 
ter given  them ! Good  God  ! that  ever  any  man  should  not 
only  escape  with  impunity,  but  receive  a reward  for  so  hor- 
rid a villany  ! Was  not  Pompey  ungrateful  too!  who,  after 
three  consulships,  three  triumphs,  and  so  many  honors, 
usurped  before  Ihs  time,  split  tlie  commonwealth  into  three 
parts,  and  brought  it  to  such  a pass,  that  there  was  no  hope 
of  safety  but  by  slavery  only ; forsooth,  to  abate  the  envy  of 
his  power,  he  took  other  partners  with  him  into  the  govern- 
ment, as  if  that  which  was  not  lawful  for  any  one  might 
have  been  allowable  for  more ; dividing  and  distributing  the 
provinces,  and  breaking  all  into  a triumvirate,  reserving  still 
two  parts  of  the  three  in  his  own  family.  And  was  not 
Caesar  ungrateful  also,  though  to  give  him  his  due,  he  was 
a man  of  his  word  ; merciful  in  his  victories,  and  never  killed 
any  man  but  with  his  sword  in  his  hand!  Let  us  therefore 
forgive  one  another.  Only  one  word  more  now  for  the 
shame  of  ungrateful  governments.  Was  not  Camillus  ban- 
ished Scipio  dismissed ! and  Cicero  exiled  and  plundered  ! 
|{ut,  what  is  all  this  to  those  who  are  so  mad,  as  to  dispute 
even  the  goodness  of  Heaven,  which  gives  us  all,  and  ex- 
pects nothing  again,  but  continues  giving  to  the  most  un- 
thankful and  complaining! 


CHAP.  XX. 

There  can  he  no  law  against  ingratitude. 

Ingratitude  is  so  dangerous  to  itself,  and  so  detestable 
to  other  people,  that  nature,  one  would  think,  had  sufficiently 
provided  against  it,  without  need  of  any  other  law.  For 
every  ungrateful  man  is  his  own  enemy,  and  it  seems  su- 
perfluous to  compel  a man  to  be  kind  to  himself,  and  to 


\ SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


77 


follow  his  own  inclinations.  This,  of  all  wickedness  ima- 
ginable, is  certainly  the  vice  which  does  the  most  divide  and 
distract  human  nature.  Without  the  exercise  and  the  com 
merce  of  mutual  offices,  we  can  be  neither  happy  nor  safe 
for  it  is  only  society  that  secures  us:  take  us  one  by  one, 
and  we  are  a prey  even  to  brutes  as  well  as  to  one  another; 
Nature  has  brought  us  into  the  world  naked  and  unarmed ; 
we  have  not  the  teeth  or  the  paws  of  lions  or  bears  to  make  our* 
selves  terrible ; but  by  the  two  blessings  of  reason  and  union, 
we  secure  and  defend  ourselves  against  violence  and  fortune. 
This  it  is  that  makes  man  the  master  of  all  other  creatures, 
who  otherwise  were  scarce  a match  for  the  weakest  of  tliem. 
This  it  is  that  comforts  us  in  sickness,  in  age,  in  misery,  in 
pains,  and  in  the  worst  of  calamities.  Take  away  this  com- 
bination, and  mankind  is  dissociated,  and  falls  to  pieces.  It 
is  true,  that  there  is  no  law  established  against  this  abomi- 
nable vice;  but  we  cannot  say  yet  that  it  escapes  unpun- 
ished, for  a public  hatred  is  certainly  the  greatest  of  all 
penalties;  over  and  above  that  we  lose  the  most  valuable 
blessings  of  life,  in  the  not  bestowing  and  receiving  of  bene- 
fits. If  ingratitude  were  to  be  punished  by  a law,  it  would 
discredit  the  obligation ; for  a benefit  is  to  be  given,  not  lent : 
and  if  we  have  no  return  at  all,  there  is  no  just  cause  of 
complaint : for  gratitude  were  no  virtue,  if  there  were  any 
danger  in  being  ungrateful.  There  are  halters,  I know, 
hooks  and  gibbets,  provided  for  homicide,  poison,  sacrilege, 
and  rebellion;  but  ingratitude  (here  upon  earth)  is  only 
punished  in  the  schools ; all  farther  pains  and  inflictions 
being  wholly  remitted  to  divine  justice.  And,  if  a man 
may  judge  of  the  conscience  by  the  countenance,  the  un- 
grateful man  is  never  without  a canker  at  his  heart ; his 
mind  and  aspect  is  sad  and  solicitous ; whereas  the  other 
is  always  cheerful  and  serene. 

As  there  are  no  laws  extant  against  ingratitude,  so  is  it 
utterly  impossible  to  contrive  any,  that  in  all  ^here  is  not 
circumstances  shall  reach  it.  If  it  were  ac-  neither  can  be, 
tionable,  there  would  not  be  courts  enough  in  “".y '“"'“gainst 
the  whole  world  to  try  the  causes  in.  There  ‘"sra'itude. 
can  be  no  setting  a day  for  the  requiting  of  benefits  as  for 
the  payment  of  money,  nor  any  estimate  upon  the  benefits 
themselves;  but  the  whole  matter  rests  in  the  conscience 
of  both  parties : and  then  there  are  so  many  degrees  of  it, 
■hat  the  same  rule  will  never  serve  all.  Beside  that,  to 
G2 


78 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


proportion  it  as  the  benefit  is  greater  or  less,  will  be  both 
impracticable  and  without  reason.  One  good  turn  saves  my 
life;  another,  my  freedom,  or  peradventure  my  very  soul.  How 
shall  any  law  now  suit  a punishment  to  an  ingratitude  under 
these  differing  degrees!  It  must  not  be  said  in  benefits  as 
in  bonds.  Pay  what  you  owe.  How  shall  a man  pay  life, 
health,  credit,  security,  in  kind?  There  can  be  no  set  rule 
to  bound  that  infinite  variety  of  cases,  which  are  more  prop- 
erly the  subject  of  humanity  and  religion  than  of  law  and 
public  justice.  There  would  be  disputes  also  about  the 
benefit  itself,  which  must  totally  depend  upon  the  courtesy 
of  the  judge;  for  no  law  imaginable  can  set  it  forth.  One 
man  gives  me  an  estate ; another  only  lends  me  a sword, 
and  that  sword  preserves  my  life.  Nay,  the  very  same 
thing,  several  ways  done,  changes  the  quality  of  the  obliga- 
tion. A word,  a tone,  a look,  makes  a great  alteration  in 
the  case.  How  shall  we  judge  then,  and  determine  a matter 
which  does  not  depend  upon  the  fact  itself,  but  upon  the 
force  and  intention  of  it!  Some  things  are  reputed  benefits, 
not  for  their  value,  but  because  we  desire  them  : and  there 
are  offices  of  as  much  greater  value,  that  we  do  not  reckon 
upon  at  all.  If  ingratitude  were  liable  to  a law,  we  must 
never  give  but  before  witnesses,  which  would  overthrow 
the  dignity  of  the  benefit:  and  then  the  punishment  must 
either  be  equal  where  the  crimes  are  unequal,  or  else  it 
must  be  unrighteous,  so  that  blood  must  answer  for  blood. 
He  that  is  ungrateful  for  my  saving  his  life  must  forfeit  his 
own.  And  what  can  be  more  inhuman  than  that  benefits 
should  conclude  in  sanguinary  events  ? A man'  saves  my 
life,  and  I am  ungrateful  for  it.  Shall  I be  punished  in  my 
purse]  that  is  too  little;  if  it  be  less  than  the  benefit,  it  is 
unjust,  and  it  must  be  capital  to  be  made  equal  to  it.  There 
are,  moreover,  certain  privileges  granted  to  parents,  that 
can  never  be  reduced  to  a common  rule.  Their  injuries 
may  be  cognizable,  but  not  their  benefits.  The  diversity  of 
cases  is  too  large  and  intricate  to  be  brought  within  the 
prospect  of  a law  : so  that  it  is  much  more  equitable  to  pun- 
ish none  than  to  punish  all  alike.  What  if  a man  follows  a 
good  office  with  an  injury;  whether  or  no  shall  this  quit 
scores]  or  who  shall  compare  them,  and  weigh  the  one 
against  the  other]  There  is  another  thing  yet  which  per- 
liaps  we  do  not  dream  of:  not  one  man  upon  the  face  of  the 
earth  would  escape,  and  yet  every  man  would  expect  to  be 


SENECA  OF  BENEFITS. 


79 


his  judge.  Once  again,  we  are  all  of  us  ungrateful ; and 
the  number  does  not  only  take  away  the  shame,  but  gives 
authority  and  protection  to  the  wickedness. 

It  is  thought  reasonable  by  some,  that  there  should  be 
a law  against  ingratitude ; for,  say  they,  it  is  common  for 
one  city  to  upbraid  another,  and  to  claim  that  of  posterity 
which  was  bestowed  upon  their  ance.stors ; but  this  is  only 
clamor  without  reason.  It  is  objected  by  others,  as  a dis- 
couragement to  good  offices,  if  men  shall  not  be  made  an- 
swerable for  them ; but  I say,  on  the  other  side,  that  no  man 
would  accept  of  a benefit  upon  those  terms.  He  that  gives 
is  prompted  to  it  by  a goodness  of  mind,  and  the  generosity 
of  the  action  is  lessened  by  the  caution : for  it  is  his  desire 
that  the  receiver  should  please  himself,  and  owe  no  more 
than  he  thinks  fit.  But  what  if  this  might  occasion  fewer 
benefits,  so  long  as  they  would  be  franker?  nor  is  there  any 
hurt  in  putting  a check  upon  rashness  and  profusion.  In  an- 
swer to  this ; men  will  be  careful  enough  whom  they  oblige 
without  a law ; nor  is  it  possible  for  a judge  ever  to  set  us 
right  in  it;  or  indeed,  any  thing  else,  but  the  faith  of  the 
receiver.  The  honor  of  a benefit  is  this  way  preserved, 
which  is  otherwise  profaned,  when  it  comes  to  be  merce- 
nary, and  made  matter  of  contention.  W e are  even  froward 
enough  of  ourselves  to  wrangle,  without  unnecessary  provo- 
cations. It  would  be  well,  I think,  if  moneys  might  pass  upon 
the  same  conditions  with  other  benefits,  and  the  payment 
remitted  to  the  conscience,  without  formalizing  upon  bills 
and  securities;  but  human -wisdom  has  rather  advised  with 
convenience  than  virtue  ; and  chosen  rather  to  force  honesty 
than  expect  it.  For  every  paltry  sum  of  money  there  must 
be  bonds,  witnesses,  counterparts,  powers,  &c.  which  is  no 
other  than  a shameful  confession  of  fraud  and  wickedness, 
when  more  credit  is  given  to  our  seals  than  to  our  minds ; 
and  caution  taken  lest  he  that  has  received  the  money  should 
deny  it.  Were  it  not  better  now  to  be  deceived  by  some 
than  to  suspect  all  1 what  is  the  difference,  at  this  rate,  be- 
twixt the  benefactor  and  an  usurer,  save  only  that  in  the 
benefactor’s  case  there  is  nobody  stands  bound  1 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


CHAP.  I. 

Of  a happy  life,  and  wherein  it  consists. 

There  is  not  any  things  in  this  world,  perhaps,  tliat  is 
more  talked  of,  and  less  understood,  than  the  business  of  a 
happy  life.  It  is  every  man’s  wish  and  design ; and  yet 
not  one  of  a thousand  that  knows  wherein  that  happiness 
consists.  We  live,  however,  in  a blind  and  eager  pursuit 
of  it;  and  the  more  haste  we  make  in  a wrong  way,  the 
farther  we  are  from  our  journey’s  end.  Let  us  therefore, 
first,  consider  “ what  it  is  we  should  be  at;”  and,  secondly, 
“ which  is  the  readiest  way  to  compass  it.”  If  we  be  right, 
we  shall  find  every  day  how  much  we  improve ; but  if  we 
either  follow  the  cry,  or  the  track,  of  people  that  are  out 
of  the  way,  we  must  expect  to  be  misled,  and  to  continue 
our  days  in  wandering  and  error.  Wherefore,  it  highly 
concerns  us  to  take  along  with  us  a skilful  guide;  for  it  is 
not  in  this,  as  in  other  voyages,  where  the  highway  brings 
us  to  our  place  of  repose ; or  if  a man  should  happen  to  be 
out,  where  the  inhabitants  might  set  him  right  again ; but 
on  the  contrary,  the  beaten  road  is  here  the  most  danger- 
ous, and  the  people,  instead  of  helping  us,  misguide  us. 
Let  VIS  not  therefore  follow,  like  beasts,  but  rather  govern 
ourselves  by  reason,  than  by  example.  It  fares  with  us  in 
human  life  as  in  a routed  army ; one  stumbles  first,  and 
then  another  falls  upon  him,  and  so  they  follow,  one  upon 
the  neck  of  another,  until  the  whole  field  comes  to  he  but 
one  heap  of  miscarriages.  And  the  mischief  is,  “that  the 
number  of  the  multitude  carries  it  against  truth  and  jus- 
tice ;”  so  that  we  must  leave  the  crowd,  if  we  would  be 
happy : for  the  question  of  a happy  life  is  not  to  be  decided 
by  vote : nay,  so  far  from  it,  that  plurality  of  voices  is  still 
an  argument  of  the  wrong;  the  common  people  find  it 
easier  to  believe  than  to  judge,  and  content  themselves 
with  what  is  usual,  never  examining  whether  it  be  good  or 


SENEUA  OF  A HVPPY  LIFE. 


81 


not  By  the  common  people  is  intended  the  man  of  title 
as  well  as  the  clouted  shoe:  for  I do  not  distinguish  them 
by  the  eye,  but  by  the  mind,  which  is  the  proper  judge  of 
the  man.  Worldly  felicity,  I know,  makes  the  head  giddy; 
but  if  ever  a man  comes  to  himself  again,  he  will  confess, 
that  “whatsoever  he  has  done,  he  wishes  undone;”  and 
that  “ the  things  he  feared  were  better  than  those  he  pray- 
ed for.” 

The  true  felicity  of  life  is  to  be  free  from  perturbations ; 
to  understand  our  duties  towards  God  and 
man : to  enjoy  the  present  without  any  an.x-  appmess. 
ious  dependence  upon  the  future.  Not  to  amuse  ourselves 
with  either  hopes  or  fears,  but  to  rest  satisfied  with  what 
we  have,  which  is  abundantly  sufficient;  for  he  that  is  so, 
wants  nothing.  The  great  blessings  of  mankind  are  within 
us,  and  within  our  reach ; but  we  shut  our  eyes,  and,  like 
people  in  the  dark,  we  fall  foul  upon  the  very  thing  we 
search  for  without  finding  it.  “Tranquillity  is  a certain 
equality  of  mind,  which  no  condition  of  fortune  can  either 
exalt  or  depress.”  Nothing  can  make  it  less : for  it  is  the 
state  of  human  perfection : it  raises  us  as  high  as  we  can 
go ; and  makes  every  man  his  own  supporter ; whereas  he 
that  is  borne  up  by  any  thing  else  may  fall.  He  that  judges 
aright,  and  perseveres  in  it,  enjoys  a perpetual  calm : he 
takes  a true  prospect  of  things;  he  observes  an  order, 
measure,  a decorum  in  all  his  actions ; he  has  a benevolence 
in  his  nature;  he  squares  his  life  accordinaf  to  reason  ; and 
draws  to  himself  love  and  admiration.  Without  a certain 
and  an  unchangeable  judgment,  all  the  rest  is  but  fluctua- 
tion : but  “ he  that  always  wills  and  nills  the  same  thing, 
is  undoubtedly  in  the  right.”  Liberty  and  serenity  of  mind 
must  necessarily  ensue  upon  the  mastering  of  those  things 
which  either  allure  or  affright  us;  when  instead  of  those 
flashy  pleasures,  (which  even  at  the  best  are  both  vain  and 
hurtful  together,)  we  shall  find  ourselves  possessed  of  joy 
transporting  and  everlasting.  It  must  be  a sound  mind  tha 
makes  a happy  man  ; ther^j  must  be  a constancy  in  all  con 
ditions,  a care  for  the  things  of  this  world,  but  without 
trouble;  and  such  an  indifferency  for  the  bounties  of  for- 
tune, that  either  with  them,  or  without  them,  we  may  live 
contentedly.  There  must  be  neither  lamentation,  nor  quar- 
relling, nor  sloth,  nor  fear;  for  it  makes  a discord  in  a man’s 
life.  “ He  that  fears,  serves.”  The  joy  of  a wise  man 
stands  firm  without  interruption ; in  all  places,  at  all  times 


82 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


and  in  all  conditions,  his  thoughts  are  cheerful  and  quiet. 
As  it  never  came  in  to  him  from  without,  so  it  will  never 
leave  him;  but  it  is  born  within  him,  and  inseparable  from 
him.  It  is  a solicitous  life  that  is  egged  on  with  the  hope 
of  any  thing,  though  never  so  open  and  easy,  nay,  though 
a man  should  never  sutler  any  sort  ot  disappointment.  I do 
not  speak  this  either  as  a bar  to  the  fair  enjoyment  of  law- 
ful pleasures,  or  to  the  gentle  flatteries  of  reasonable  ex- 
pectations: but,  on  the  contrary,  I would  have  men  to  be 
always  in  good  humor,  provided  that  it  arises  from  their 
own  souls,  and  be  cherished  in  their  own  breasts.  Other 
delights  are  trivial ; they  may  smooth  the  brow,  but  they 
do  not  fill  and  affect  the  heart.  “ True  joy  is  a serene  and 
sober  motion  and  they  are  miserably  out  that  take  laugh- 
ing for  rejoicing.  The  seat  of  it  is  within,  and  there  is  no 
cheerfulness  like  the  resolution  of  a brave  mind,  that  has 
fortune  under  his  feet.  He  that  can  look  death  in  the  face, 
nd  bid  it  welcome;  open  his  door  to  poverty,  and  bridle 
his  appetites;  this  is  the  man  whom  Providence  has  estab- 
lished in  the  possession  of  inviolable  delights.  The  pleasures 
of  the  vulgar  are  ungrounded,  thin,  and  superficial;  but 
the  other  are  solid  and  eternal.  As  the  body  itself  is  rather 
a necessary  thing,  than  a great ; so  the  comforts  of  it  are 
but  temporary  and  vain;  beside  *hat,  without  extraordinary 
moderation,  their  end  is  only  pain  and  repentance;  whereas 
a peaceful  conscience,  honest  thoughts,  virtuous  actions, 
and  an  indifference  for  casual  events,  are  blessings  without 
end,  satiety,  or  measure.  This  consummated  state  of  felicity 
is  only  a submission  to  the  dictate  of  right  nature;  “The 
foundation  of  it  is  wisdom  and  virtue;  the  knowledge  of 
what  we  ought  to  do,  and  the  conformity  of  the  will  to  that 
knowledge.” 


CHAP.  II. 

Human  happiness  is  founded  upon  wisdom  and  virtue ; and 
first,  of  wisdom. 

Taking  for  granted  that  human  happiness  is  founded 
upon  wisdom  and  virtue,  we  shall  treat  of  these  two  points 
in  order  as  they  lie  : and,^rst,  of  wisdom;  not  in  the  lati- 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LI  ’E.  83 

tude  of  its  various  operations,  but  as  it  has  only  a regard  to 
good  life,  and  the  happiness  of  mankind. 

Wisdom  is  a right  understanding,  a faculty  of  discerning 
good  from  evil ; what  is  to  be  chosen,  and  wisdom,  what 
what  rejected ; a judgment  grounded  upon  '=■ 
the  value  of  things,  and  not  the  common  opinion  of  them ; 
an  equality  of  force,  and  a strength  of  resolution.  It  sets 
a watch  over  our  words  and  deeds,  it  takes  us  up  with  the 
contemplation  of  the  works  of  nature,  and  makes  us  invin- 
cible by  either  good  or  evil  fortune.  It  is  large  and  spa- 
cious, and  requires  a great  deal  of  room  to  work  in ; it  ran- 
sacks heaven  and  earth ; it  has  for  its  object  things  past 
and  to  come,  transitory  and  eternal.  It  examines  all  the 
circumstances  of  time ; “ what  it  is,  when  it  began,  and 
how  long  it  will  continue : and  so  for  the  mind ; whence  it 
came ; what  it  is ; when  it  begins ; how  long  it  lasts ; 
whether  or  not  it  passes  from  one  form  to  another,  or  serves 
only  one,  and  wanders  when  it  leaves  us;  whether  it 
abides  in  a state  of  separation,  and  what  the  action  of  it ; 
what  use  it  makes  of  its  liberty ; whether  or  not  it  retains 
the  memory  of  things  past,  and  comes  to  the  knowledge  of 
itself.”  It  is  the  habit  of  a perfect  mind,  and  the  perfection 
of  humanity,  raised  as  high  as  Nature  can  carry  it.  It 
differs  from  philosophy,  as  avarice  and  money ; the  one  de- 
sires, and  the  other  is  desired ; the  one  is  the  effect  and  the 
reward  of  the  other.  To  be  wise  is  the  use  of  wisdom,  as 
seeing  is  the  use  of  eyes,  and  well-speaking  the  use  of  elo- 
quence. He  that  is  perfectly  wise  is  perfectly  happy ; nay, 
the  very  beginning  of  wisdom  makes  life  easy  to  us.  Neither 
is  it  enough  to  know  this,  unless  we  print  it  in  our  minds 
by  daily  meditation,  and  so  bring  a good-will  to  a good 
habit.  And  we  must  practise  what  we  preach:  for  philoso- 
phy is  not  a subject  for  popular  ostentation ; nor  does  it  rest 
in  words,  but  in  things.  It  is  not  an  entertainment  taken 
up  for  delight,  or  to  give  a taste  to  our  leisure ; but  it 
fashions  the  mind,  governs  our  actions,  tells  us  what  we 
are  to  do,  and  what  not.  It  sits  at  the  helm,  and  guides  us 
through  all  hazards;  nay,  we  cannot  be  safe  without  it,  for 
every  hour  gives  us  occasion  to  make  use  of  it.  It  informs 
us  in  all  the  duties  of  life,  piety  to  our  parents,  faith  to  our 
friends,  charity  to  the  miserable,  judgment  in  counsel ; it 
gives  us  peace  by  fearing  nothing,  and  riches  by  coveting 
nothing 


84 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


There  is  no  condition  of  life  that  excludes  a wise  man 
i from  discharginff  his  duty.  If  his  fortune  be 

does  his  duty  good,  he  tempers  it;  it  bad,  he  masters  it;  if 
in  all  condi-  he  has  an  estate,  he  will  exercise  his  virtue  in 
‘ plenty  ; if  none,  in  poverty : if  he  cannot  do 

it  in  his  country,  he  will  do  it  in  banishment;  if  he  has  no 
command,  he  will  do  the  office  of  a common  soldier.  Some 
people  have  the  skill  of  reclaiming  the  fiercest  of  beasts; 
they  will  make  a lion  embrace  his  keeper,  a tiger  kiss  him, 
and  an  elephant  kneel  to  him.  This  is  the  case  of  a wise 
man  in  the  extremest  difficulties ; let  them  be  never  so  ter- 
rible in  themselves,  when  they  come  to  him  once,  they  are 
perfectly  tame.  They  that  ascribe  the  invention  of  tillage, 
architecture,  navigation,  &.c.  to  wise  men,  may  perchance 
be  in  the  right,  that  they  were  invented  by  wise  men  ; but 
they  were  not  invented  by  wise  men,  as  wise  men;  for  wis- 
dom does  not  teach  our  fingers,  but  our  minds:  fiddling  and 
dancing,  arms  and  fortifications,  were  the  works  of  luxury 
and  discord  ; but  wisdom  instructs  us  in  the  way  of  nature, 
and  in  the  arts  of  unity  and  concord,  not  in  the  instruments, 
but  in  the  government  of  life ; not  to  make  us  live  only,  but 
to  live  happily.  She  teaches  us  what  things  are  good,  what 
evil,  and  what  only  appear  so;  and  to  distinguish  betwixt 
true  greatness  and  tumor.  She  clears  our  minds  of  dross 
and  vanity;  she  raises  up  our  thoughts  to  heaven,  and  car- 
ries them  down  to  hell : she  discourses  of  the  nature  of  the 
soul,  the  powers  and  faculties  of  it ; the  first  principles  of 
things;  the  order  of  Providence : she  exalts  us  from  things 
corporeal  to  things  incorporeal,  and  retrieves  the  truth  of  all : 
she  searches  nature,  gives  laws  to  life ; and  tells  us,  “ That 
it  is  not  enough  to  know  God,  unless  we  obey  him she 
looks  upon  all  accidents  as  acts  of  Providence : sets  a true 
value  upon  things;  delivers  us  from  false  opinions,  and  con- 
demns all  pleasures  that  are  attended  with  repentance.  She 
allows  nothing  to  be  good  that  will  not  be  so  for  ever;  no 
man  to  be  happy  but  he  that  needs  no  other  happiness  than 
what  he  has  within  himself ; no  man  to  be  great  or  power- 
ful, that  is  not  master  of  himself.  This  is  the  felicity  of 
human  life;  a felicity  that  can  neither  be  corrupted  nor 
extinguished:  it  inquires  into  the  nature  of  the  heavens, 
the  influence  of  the  stars;  how  far  they  operate  upon  our 
minds  and  bodies : which  thoughts,  though  they  do  not  form 
our  manners,  they  do  yet  raise  and  dispose  us  for  glorious 
t-hings. 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE.  85 

It  is  agreed  upon  at  all  hands,  “ That  right  reason  is  the 
perfection  of  human  nature,”  and  wisdom  reason 

only  the  dictate  of  it.  The  greatness  that  isUie  pericc- 
arises  from  it  is  solid  and  unmovable,  the  t'™  «f  iiuman 
resolutions  of  wisdom  being  free,  absolute,  and 
constant ; whereas  folly  is  never  long  pleased  with  the  same 
thing,  but  still  shifting  of  counsels  and  sick  of  itself.  There 
can  be  no  happiness  without  constancy  and  prudence ; for  a 
wise  man  is  to  write  without  a blot;  and  what  he  likes  once 
he  approves  for  ever:  he  admits  of  nothing  that  is  either 
evil  or  slippery ; but  marches  without  staggering  or  stum 
bling,  and  is  never  surprised : he  lives  always  true  and 
steady  to  himself,  and  whatsoever  befalls  him,  this  great 
artificer  of  both  fortunes  turns  to  advantage,  he  that  demurs 
and  hesitates  is  not  yet  composed : but  wheresoever  virtue 
interposes  upon  the  main,  there  must  be  concord  and  con- 
sent in  the  parts : for  all  virtues  are  in  agreement,  as  well 
as  all  vices  are  at  variance.  A wise  man,  in  what  condition 
soever  he  is,  will  be  still  happy ; for  he  subjects  all  things 
to  himself,  because  he  submits  himself  to  reason,  and 
governs  his  actions  by  counsel,  not  by  passion.  He  is  not 
moved  with  the  utmost  violences  of  fortune,  nor  with  the  ex- 
tremities of  fire  and  sword  ; whereas  a fool  is  afraid  of  his 
own  shadow,  and  surprised  at  ill  accidents,'as  if  they  were 
all  levelled  at  him.  He  does  nothing  unwillingly : for 
whatever  he  finds  necessary,  he  makes  it  his  choice.  He 
propounds  to  himself  the  certain  scope  and  end  of  human 
life ; he  follows  that  which  conduces  to  it,  and  avoids  that 
which  hinders  it.  He  is  content  with  his  lot,  whatever  it 
be,  without  wishing  what  he  has  not ; though  of  the  two, 
he  had  rather  abound  than  want.  The  great  business  of 
his  life,  like  that  of  nature,  is  performed  without  tumult  oi 
noise.  He  neither  fears  danger,  nor  provokes  it ; but,  it  is 
his  caution,  not  any  want  of  courage ; for  captivity,  wounds, 
and  chains,  he  only  looks  upon  as  false  and  lymphatical  ter- 
rors. He  does  not  pretend  to  go  through  with  whatever  he 
undertakes ; but  to  do  that  well  which  he  does.  Arts  are 
but  the  servants,  wisdom  commands;  and  where  the  matter 
fails,  it  is  none  of  the  workman’s  fault.  He  is  cautelous  m 
doubtful  cases,  in  prosperity  temperate,  and  resolute  in  ad- 
versity ; still  making  the  best  of  every  condition,  and  im- 
proving all  occasions  to  make  them  serviceable  to  his  fate. 
Some  accidents  there  are,  which  I confess  may  affect  him, 
but  not  overthrow  him;  as  bodily  pains,  loss  of  children 
H 


B6 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


and  friends;  the  ruin  and  desolation  of  a man’s  country 
One  must  be  made  of  stone,  or  iron,  not  to  be  sensible  of 
these  calamities;  and  beside,  it  were  no  virtue  to  bear  them, 
if  a body  did  not  feel  them. 

There  are  three  degrees  of  prof  dents  in  the  school  of 
Three  degrees  wisdom.  The  frst,  are  those  that  come 
of  proficients  within  sight  of  it,  but  not  up  to  it;  they  have 
iti  wisdom,  learned  what  they  ought  to  do,  but  they  have 
not  put  their  knowledo-e  in  practice : they  are  past  the 
hazard  of  a relapse,  but  they  have  still  the  grudges  of  a dis- 
ease, though  they  are  out  of  the  danger  of  it.  By  a dis- 
ease, I do  understand  an  obstinacy  in  evil,  or  an  ill  habit, 
that  makes  us  over-eager  upon  things,  which  are  either  not 
much  to  be  desired,  or  not  at  all.  A second  sort,  are  those 
that  have  subjected  their  appetites  for  a season,  but  are  yet 
in  fear  of  falling  back.  A third  sort  are  those  that  are  clear 
of  many  vices,  but  not  of  all.  They  are  not  covetous,  but 
perhaps  they  are  choleric;  nor  lustful,  but  perchance  ambi- 
tious ; they  are  firm  enough  in  some  cases,  but  weak  in 
others;  there  are  many  that  despise  death,  and  yet  shrink 
at  pain.  There  are  diversities  in  wise  men,  but  no  inequali- 
ties ; one  is  more  affable,  another  more  ready,  a third  a bet- 
ter speaker:  but  the  felicity  of  them  all  is  equal.  It  is  in 
this,  as  in  heavenly  bodies;  there  is  a certain  state  in 
greatness. 

In  civil  and  domestic  affairs,  a wise  man  may  stand  in 
A „ • „ „ • need  of  counsel,  as  of  a physician,  an  advo- 
some  cases  cate,  a solicitor;  but  in  greater  matters,  the 
may  need  blessing  of  wise  men  rests  in  the  joy  they 
counse . communication  of  their  virtues. 

If  there  were  nothing  else  in  it,  a man  would  apply  him- 
self to  wisdom,  because  it  settles  him  in  a perpetual  tran- 
quillity of  mind. 


CHAP.  III. 

There  can  he  no  happiness  without  virtue. 

Virtue  is  that  perfect  good,  which  is  the  compliment  of  • 
a happy  life  ; the  only  immortal  thing  that  belongs  to  mor- 
tality : it  is  the  knowledge  both  of  others  and  itself ; it  is 
an  invincible  greatness  of  mind,  not  to  be  elevated  or  de- 
jected with  good  or  ill  fortune.  It  is  sociable  and  gentle 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


87 


free,  steady,  and  fearless;  content  within  itself;  full  of  in- 
exhaustible delights ; and  it  is  valued  for  itself.  One  may 
be  a good  physician,  a good  governor,  a good  grammarian, 
without  being  a good  man ; so  that  all  things  from  without 
are  only  accessories:  for  the  seat  of  it  is  a pure  and  holy 
mind.  It  consists  in  a congruity  of  actions  which  we  can 
never  expect  so  long  as  we  are  distracted  by  our  passions. 
Not  but  that  a man  may  be  allowed  to  change  color  and 
countenance,  and  suffer  such  impressions  as  are  properly  a 
kind  of  natural  force  upon  the  body,  and  not  under  the  do- 
minion of  the  mind : but  all  this  while  I will  have  his  judg- 
ment firm,  and  he  shall  act  steadily  and  boldly,  without 
wavering  betwixt  the  motions  of  his  body  and  those  of  his 
mind.  It  is  not  a thing  indifferent,  I know,  whether  a man 
lies  at  ease  upon  a bed,  or  in  torment  upon  a wheel : and 
yet  the  former  may  be  the  worse  of  the  two,  if  he  suffer 
the  latter  with  honor,  and  enjoy  the  other  with  infamy.  It 
is  not  the  matter,  but  the  virtue,  that  makes  the  action  good 
or  ill;  and  he  that  is  led  in  triumph  may  be  yet  greater 
than  his  conqueror.  When  we  come  once  to  value  our 
flesh  above  our  honesty,  we  are  lost ; and  yet  I would  not 
press  upon  dangers,  no,  not  so  much  as  upon  inconveniences, 
unless  where  the  man  and  the  brute  come  in  competition : 
and  in  such  a case,  rather  than  make  a forfeiture  of  my 
credit,  my  reason,  or  my  faith,  I would  run  all  extremities. 
They  are  great  blessings  to  have  tender  parents,  dutiful 
children,  and  to  live  under  a just  and  well-ordered  govern- 
ment. Now,  would  it  not  trouble  even  a virtuous  man  to 
see  his  children  butchered  before  his  eyes,  his  father  made 
a slave,  and  his  country  overrun  by  a barbarous  enemy  1 
There  is  a great  difference  betwixt  the  simple  loss  of  a 
blessing,  and  the  succeeding  of  a great  mischief  into  the 
place  of  it  over  and  above.  The  loss  of  health  is  followed 
with  sickness,  and  the  loss  of  sight  with  blindness  : but  this 
does  not  hold  in  the  loss  of  friends  and  children,  where 
there  is  rather  something  to  the  contrary  to  supply  that  loss ; 
that  is  to  say,  virtue,  which  fills  the  mind,  and  takes  away 
the  desire  of  what  we  have  not.  What  matters  it  whether 
the  water  be  stopped  or  not,  so  long  as  the  fountain  is  safe  1 
Is  a man  ever  the  wiser  for  a multitude  of  friends,  or  the 
more  foolish  for  the  loss  of  them  1 so  neither  is  he  the  hap- 
pier, nor  the  more  miserable.  Short  life,  grief,  and  pain, 
are  accessions  that  have  no  effect  at  all  upon  virtue.  It  con- 
sists in  the  action,  and  not  in  the  things  we  do:  in  the 


88 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


clioice  itself,  and  not  in  the  subject-matter  of  it.  It  is  not 
a despicable  body  or  condition : not  poverty,  infamy,  or 
scandal,  that  can  obscure  the  glories  of  virtue ; but  a man 
may  see  her  through  all  oppositions,  and  he  that  looks  dili- 
gently into  the  state  of  a wicked  man,  will  see  the  cankei 
at  his  heart,  through  all  the  false  and  dazzling  splendors  of 
greatness  and  fortune.  We  shall  then  discover  our  childish- 
ness, in  setting  our  hearts  upon  things  trivial  and  contempt- 
ible, and  in  the  selling  of  our  very  country  and  parents  for 
a rattle.  And  what  is  the  difference  (in  effect)  betwixt  old 
men  and  children,  but  that  the  one  deals  in  paintings  and 
statues,  and  tlie  other  in  babies  ? So  that  we  ourselves  are 
only  the  more  expensive  fools. 

If  one  could  but  see  the  mind  of  a good  man,  as  it  is 
Thedi  nit  illustrated  with  virtue;  the  beauty  and  the 
of%inue*7  majesty  of  it,  which  is  a dignity  not  so  much  . 

as  to  be  thought  of  without  love  and  venera- 
tion ; would  not  a man  bless  himself  at  the  sight  of  such 
an  object,  as  at  the  encounter  of  some  supernatural  power  1 
A power  so  miraculous,  that  it  is  a kind  of  charm  upon  the 
souls  of  those  that  are  truly  affected  with  it.  There  is  sc 
wonderful  a grace  and  authority  in  it,  that  even  the  worst 
of  men  approve  it,  and  set  up  for  the  reputation  of  being 
accounted  virtuous  themselves.  They  covet  the  fruit  in- 
deed, and  the  profit  of  wickedness ; but  they  hate  and  are 
ashamed  of  the  imputation  of  it.  It  is  by  an  impression  of 
Nature  that  all  men  have  a reverence  for  virtue ; they  know 
it,  and  they  have  a respect  for  it,  though  they  do  not 
practise  it : nay,  for  the  countenance  of  their  very  wicked- 
ness, they  miscall  it  virtue.  Their  injuries  they  call  bene- 
fits, and  expect  a man  should  thank  them  for  doing  him  a 
mischief ; they  cover  their  most  notorious  iniquities  with  a 
pretext  of  justice.  He  that  robs  upon  the  highway,  had 
rather  find  his  booty  than  force  it.  Ask  any  of  them  that 
live  upon  rapine,  fraud,  oppression,  if  they  had  not  rather 
enjoy  a fortune  honestly  gotten,  and  their  consciences  will 
not  suffer  them  to  deny  it.  Men  are  vicious  only  for  the 
])rofit  of  villany ; for  at  the  same  time  that  they  commit  it, 
they  condemn  it.  Nay,  so  powerful  is  virtue,  and  so  gra- 
cious is  Providence,  that  every  man  has  a light  set  up 
within  him  for  a guide ; which  we  do  all  of  us  both  see  and 
acknowledge,  though  we  do  not  pursue  it. — This  is  it  that 
makes  tlie  prisoner  upon  the  torture  happier  than  the  exe- 
cutioner, and  sickness  better  than  health,  if  we  bear  it 


SENECA.  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


89 


without  yielding’  or  repining:  this  is  it  that  overcomes  ill 
fortune,  and  moderates  good ; for  it  marches  betwixt  the 
one  and  the  other,  with  an  equal  contempt  of  both.  It  turns 
(like  fire)  all  things  into  itself;  our  actions  and  our  friend- 
ships are  tinctured  with  it,  and  whatever  it  touches  becomes 
amiable.  That  which  is  frail  and  mortal  rises  and  falls, 
grows,  wastes,  and  varies  from  itself;  but  the  state  of  things 
divine  is  always  the  same ; and  so  is  virtue,  let  the  matter 
be  what  it  will.  It  is  never  the  worse  for  the  difficulty  of 
the  action,  nor  the  better  for  the  easiness  of  it.  It  is  the 
same  in  a rich  man  as  in  a poor;  in  a sickly  man  as  in  a 
sound  ; in  a strong  as  in  a weak : the  virtue  of  the  besieged 
is  as  great  as  that  of  the  besiegers.  There  are  some  vir- 
tues, I confess,  which  a good  man  cannot  he  without,  and 
yet  he  had  rather  have  no  occasion  to  employ  them.  If  there 
were  any  difference,  I should  prefer  the  virtues  of  patience 
before  those  of  pleasure ; for  it  is  braver  to  break  through 
difficulties  than  to  temper  our  delights.  But  though  the 
subject  of  virtue  may  possibly  be  against  nature,  as  to  be 
burnt  or  wounded,  yet  the  virtue  itself  of  an  invincible 
'patience  is  according  to  nature.  We  may  seem,  perhaps, 
to  promise  more  than  human  nature  is  able  to  perform ; but 
we  speak  with  a respect  to  the  mind,  and  not  to  the  body. 

If  a man  does  not  live  up  to  his  own  rules,  it  is  some- 
thing yet  to  have  virtuous  meditations  and  The  good-wiii 
good  purposes,  even  without  acting;  it  is  is  accepted  for 
generous,  the  very  adventure  of  being  good,  Hie  deed, 
and  the  bare  proposal  of  an  eminent  course  of  life,  though 
beyond  the  force  of  human  frailty  to  accomplish.  There  is 
something  of  honor  yet  in  the  miscarriage ; nay,  in  the 
naked  contemplation  of  it.  I would  receive  my  own  death 
with  as  little  trouble  as  I would  hear  of  another  man’s  ; I 
would  bear  the  same  mind  whether  I be  rich  or  poor,  whether 
I get  or  lose  in  the  world  ; what  I have,  I will  not  either 
sordidly  spare,  or  prodigally  squander  away,  and  I will 
reckon  upon  benefits  well-placed  as  the  fairest  part  of  my 
possession : not  valuing  them  by  number  or  weight,  but  by 
the  profit  and  esteem  of  the  receiver ; accounting  myself 
never  the  poorer  for  that  which  I give  to  a worthy  person. 
What  I do  shall  be  done  for  conscience,  not  ostentation.  I 
will  eat  and  drink,  not  to  gratify  my  palate,  or  only  to  fill 
and  empty,  but  to  satisfy  nature;  I will  be  cheerful  to  my 
friends,  mild  and  placable  to  my  enemies:  I will  prevent 
<in  honest  request  if  I can  foresee  it,  and  I will  grai’t  it 
II  2 


90 


SENECA  OP  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


without  asking : I will  look  upon  the  whole  world  as  my 
country,  and  upon  the  gods,  both  as  the  witnesses  and  the 
Midges  of  my  words  and  deeds.  I will  live  and  die  with 
this  testimony,  that  I loved  good  studies,  and  a good  con- 
science ; that  I never  invaded  another  man’s  liberty ; and 
that  I preserved  my  own.  I will  govern  my  life  and  my  ' 
thoughts  as  if  the  whole  world  were  to  see  the  one,  and  to 
read  the  other;  for  “what  does  it  signify  to  make  any 
thing  a secret  to  my  neighbor,  when  to  God  (who  is  the 
searcher  of  our  hearts)  all  our  privacies  are  open.” 

Virtue  is  divided  into  two  parts,  contemplation  and  action. 
Vjrtup  is  jjyij.The  one  is  delivered  by  institution,  the  other 
ediniocon-  by  admonition : one  part  of  virtue  consists  in 
tempiaiion  and  (jiycipijue^  the  Other  in  exercise;  for  we  must 
first  learn,  and  then  practise.  The  sooner  we 
begin  to  apply  ourselves  to  it,  and  the  more  haste  we  make, 
the  longer  shall  we  enjoy  the  comforts  of  a rectified  mind ; 
nay,  we  have  the  fruition  of  it  in  the  very  act  of  forming 
it:  but  it  is  another  sort  of  delight,  I must  confess,  that 
arises  from  the  contemplation  of  a soul  which  is  advanced 
into  the  possession  of  wisdom  and  virtue.  If  it  was  so 
great  a comfort  to  us  to  pass  from  the  subjection  of  our 
childhood  into  a state  of  liberty  and  business,  how  much 
greater  will  it  be  when  we  come  to  cast  off  the  boyish 
levity  of  our  minds,  and  range  ourselves  among  the  philoso- 
phers'! We  are  past  our  minority,  it  is  true,  but  not  our  in- 
discretions ; and,  which  is  yet  worse,  we  have  the  authority 
of  seniors,  and  the  weaknesses  of  children,  (I  might  have 
said  of  infants,  for  every  little  thing  frights  the  one,  and 
every  trivial  fancy  the  other.)  Whoever  studies  this  point 
well  will  find,  that  many  things  are  the  less  to  be  feared 
the  more  terrible  they  appear.  To  think  any  thing  good 
that  is  not  honest,  were  to  reproach  Providence ; for  good 
men  suffer  many  inconveniences;  but  virtue,  like  the  sun, 
goes  on  still  with  her  work,  let  the  air  be  never  so  cloudy, 
and  finishes  her  course,  extinguishing  likewise  all  other 
splendors  and  oppositions;  insomuch  that  calamity  is  no 
more  to  a virtuous  mind,  than  a shower  into  the  sea.  That 
which  is  right,  is  not  to  be  valued  by  quantity,  number,  or 
time;  a life  of  a day  may  be  as  honest  as  a life  of  a hun- 
dred years:  but  yet  virtue  in  one  man  may  have  a larger 
field  to  show  itself  in  than  in  another.  One  man,  perhaps, 
may  be  in  a station  to  administer  unto  cities  and  kingdoms; 
to  contrive  good  laws,  create  friendships,  and  do  beneficial 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


01 


offices  to  mankind ; it  is  another  man’s  fortune  to  be  strait- 
ened by  poverty,  or  put  out  of  the  way  by  banishment : and 
yet  the  latter  may  be  as  virtuous  as  the  former ; and  may 
have  as  great  a mind,  as  exact  a prudence,  as  inviolable  a 
justice,  and  as  large  a knowledge  of  things,  both  divine 
and  human  ; without  which  a man  cannot  be  happy.  For 
virtue  is  open  to  all ; as  well  to  servants  and  exiles,  as  to 
princes:  it  is  profitable  to  the  world  and  to  itself,  at  all 
distances  and  in  all  conditions;  and  there  is  no  difficulty 
can  excuse  a man  from  the  exercise  of  it ; and  it  is  only  to 
he  found  in  a wise  man,  though  there  may  be  some  taint 
resemblances  of  it  in  the  common  people.  The  Stoics  hold 
all  virtues  to  be  equal ; but  yet  there  is  great  variety  in 
the  matter  they  have  to  work  upon,  according  as  it  is  larger 
or  narrower,  illustrious  or  less  noble,  of  more  or  less  extent; 
as  all  good  men  are  equal,  that  is  to  say,  as  they  are  good  ; 
but  yet  one  may  be  young,  another  old ; one  may  be  rich, 
another  poor;  one  eminent  and  powerful,  another  unknown 
and  obscure.  There  are  many  things  which  have  little  or 
no  grace  in  themselves,  and  are  yet  glorious  and  remarkable 
by  virtue.  Nothing  can  be  good  which  gives  neither  great- 
ness nor  security  to  the  mind ; but,  on  the  contrary,  infects 
it  with  insolence,  arrogance,  and  tumor : nor  does  virtue 
dwell  upon  the  tip  of  the  tongue,  but  in  the  temple  of  a 
purified  heart.  He  that  depends  upon  any  other  good  be- 
comes covetous  of  life,  and  what  belongs  to  it;  which  ex- 
poses a man  to  appetites  that  are  vast,  unlimitea,  and  intol- 
erable. Virtue  is  free  and  indefatigable,  and  accompanied 
with  concord  and  gracefulness ; whereas  pleasure  is  mean, 
servile,  transitory,  tiresome,  and  sickly,  and  scarce  outlives 
the  tasting  of  it:  it  is  the  good  of  the  belly,  and  not  of  the 
man,  and  only  the  felicity  of  brutes.  Who  does  not  know 
that  fools  enjoy  their  pleasures,  and  that  there  is  great  va- 
riety in  the  entertainments  of  wickedness ! Nay,  the  mind 
itself  has  its  variety  of  perverse  pleasures  as  well  as  the 
body:  as  insolence,  self-conceit,  pride,  garrulity,  laziness, 
and  the  abusive  wit  of  turning  every  thing  'mio  ridicule , 
whereas  virtue  weighs  all  this,  and  corrects  it.  It  is  the 
knowledge  both  of  others  and  of  itself;  it  is  to  be  learned 
from  itself;  and  the  very  will  itself  may  be  taught;  which 
will  cannot  be  right,  unless  the  whole  habit  of  the  mind 
be  right  from  whence  the  will  comes.  It  is  by  the  impulse 
of  virtue  that  we  love  virtue,  so  that  the  very  way  to  vir- 


92 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPV  LIFE. 


tue,  lies  by  virtue,  which  takes  in  also,  at  a view,  the  laws 
of  human  life. 

Neither  are  we  to  value  ourselves  upon  a day,  or  an  hour, 
A virtuous  life  o*"  Of'®  action,  but  upon  the  whole  habit 
must  be  all  of  of  the  mind.  Some  men  do  one  thing  bravely, 
a piece.  amj^her;  they  will  shrink  at  infamy, 

and  bear  up  agaimst  poverty : in  this  case,  we  commend  the 
fact,  and  despise  the  man.  The  soul  is  never  in  the  right 
place  until  it  be  delivered  from  the  cares  of  human  affairs; 
we  must  labor  and  climb  the  hill,  if  we  will  arrive  at  virtue, 
whose  seat  is  upon  the  top  of  it.  He  that  masters  avarice, 
and  is  truly  good,  stands  firm  against  ambition ; he  looks 
upon  his  last  hour  not  as  a punisliment,  but  as  the  equity 
of  a common  fate ; he  that  subdues  his  carnal  lusts  shall 
easily  keep  himself  untainted  with  any  other:  so  that 
re.ason  does  not  encounter  tliis  or  that  vice  by  itself,  but 
beats  down  all  at  a blow.  What  does  he  care  for  ignominy 
that  only  values  himself  upon  conscience,  and  not  opinion! 
Socrates  looked  a scandalous  death  in  the  face  with  the 
same  constancy  that  he  had  before  practised  towards  the 
thirty  tyrants : his  virtue  consecrated  the  very  dungeon; 
as  Cato’s  repulse  was  Cato’s  honor,  and  the  reproach  of  the 
government.  He  that  is  wise  will  take  delight  even  in  an 
ill  opinion  that  is  well  gotten  ; it  is  ostentation,  not  virtue, 
when  a man  will  have  his  good  deeds  published;  and  it  is 
ot  enough  to  be  just  where  there  is  honor  to  be  gotten, 
ut  to  continue  so,  in  defiance  of  infamy  and  danger. 

But  virtue  cannot  lie  hid,  for  the  time  will  come  that 

Virtue  can  shall  raise  it  again  (even  after  it  is  buried) 
never  be  sup-  and  deliver  it  from  the  malignity  of  the  age 
pressed.  oppressed  it:  immortal  glory  is  the  shad- 

ow of  it,  and  keeps  it  company  whether  we  will  or  not ; but 
sometimes  the  shadow  goes  before  the  substance,  and  other 
whiles  it  follows  it;  and  the  later  it  comes,  the  larger  it  is, 
when  even  envy  itself  shall  have  given  way  to  it.  It  was 
a long  time  that  Democritus  was  taken  for  a madman,  and 
before  Socrates  had  any  esteem  in  the  world.  How  long 
was  it  before  Cato  could  be  understood ! Nay,  he  was  afi 
fronted,  contemned,  and  rejected ; and  people  never  knew 
the  value  of  him  until  they  had  lost  him : the  integrity  and 
courage  of  mad  Rutilius  had  been  forgotten  but  for  his  suf- 
erings.  I speak  of  those  that  fortune  has  made  famous  for 
their  persecutions:  and  there  are  others  also  that  the  world 
never  took  notice  of  until  they  were  dead ; as  Epicurus  and 


SENECA  OB  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


93 


Metrodorus,  that  were  almost  wholly  unknown,  even  in  the 
place  where  tliey  lived.  Now,  as  the  body  is  to  be  kept  in 
upon  the  down-hill,  and  forced  upwards,  so  there  are  some 
virtues  that  require  the  rein  and  others  the  spur.  In  liber- 
ttlily,  temperance,  gentleness  of  nature,  we  are  to  check 
ourselves  for  fear  of  falling ; but  in  patience,  resolution, 
and  perseverance,  where  we  are  to  mount  the  hill,  we  stand 
in  need  of  encouragement.  Upon  this  division  of  the  mat- 
ter, I had  rather  steer  t he  smoother  course  than  pass  through 
the-experiments  of  sweat  and  blood:  I know  it  is  my  duty 
to  be  content  in  all  conditions ; but  yet,  if  it  were  at  my 
election,  I would  choose  the  fairest.  When  a man  comes 
once  to  stand  in  need  of  fortune,  his  life  is  anxious,  suspi- 
cious, timorous,  dependent  upon  every  moment,  and  in  fear 
of  all  accidents.  How  can  that  man  resign  himself  to  God, 
or  bear  his  lot,  whatever  it  be,  witliout  murmuring,  and 
cheerfully  submit  to  Providence,  that  shrinks  at  every  mo- 
tion of  pleasure  or  painl  It  is  virtue  alone  that  raises  us 
above  griefs,  hopes,  fears,  and  chances ; and  makes  us  not 
only  patient,  but  willing,  as  knowing  that  whatever  we  suffer 
is  according  to  the  decree  of  Heaven.  He  that  is  overcome 
with  pleasure,  (so  contemptible  and  weak  an  enemy)  what 
will  become  of  him  when  he  comes  to  grapple  with  dangers, 
necessities,  torments,  death,  and  the  dissolution  of  nature 
itself!  Wealth,  honor,  and  favor,  may  come  upon  a man 
by  chance ; nay,  they  may  be  cast  upon  him  without  so 
much  as  looking  after  them  : but  virtue  is  the  work  of  in- 
dustry and  labor ; and  certainly  it  is  worth  the  while  to 
purchase  that  good  which  brings  all  others  along  with  it. 
A good  man  is  happy  within  himself,  and  independent  upon 
fortune  : kind  to  his  friend,  temperate  to  his  enemy,  religi- 
ously just,  indefatigably  laborious ; and  he  discharges  all 
duties  with  a constancy  and  congruity  of  actions. 


CHAP.  IV. 

Philosophy  is  the  guide  of  life. 

If  it  be  true,  that  the  understanding  and  the  will  are 
the  two  eminent  faculties  of  the  reasonable  soul,  it  follows 
necessarily,  that  wisdom  and  virtue,  (which  are  the  bes'; 
improvements  of  these  two  faculties,)  must  be  the  perfec- 


04 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


lion  also  of  our  reasonable  being ; and  consequently,  the 
undeniable  foundation  of  a happy  life.  There  is  not  any 
duty  to  which  Providence  has  not  annexed  a blessing ; nor 
any  institution  of  Heaven  which,  even  in  this  life,  we  may 
not  be  the  better  for ; not  any  temptation,  either  of  fortune 
or  of  appetite,  that  is  not  subject  to  our  reason ; nor  any 
passion  or  affliction  for  which  virtue  has  not  provided  a 
emedy.  So  that  it  is  our  own  fault  if  we  either  fear  or 
hope  for  any  thing;  which  two  affections  are  the  root  of  all 
our  miseries.  From  this  general  prospect  of  the  foundation 
of  our  tranquillity,  we  shall  pass  by  degrees  to  a particular 
consideration  of  the  means  by  which  it  may  be  procured, 
and  of  the  impediments  that  obstruct  it;  beginning  with 
that  philosophy  which  principally  regards  our  manners,  and 
nstructs  us  in  the  measures  of  a virtuous  and  quiet  life. 

Philosophy  is  divided  into  moral,  natural,  and  rational : 
Piiiiosophy  is  concerns  our  manners ; the  second 

moral,  natural,  searclies  the  works  of  Nature  ; and  the  third 
and  rational,  fumishes  US  with  propriety  of  words  and  argu- 
ments, and  the  faculty  of  distinguishing,  that  we  may  not 
be  imposed  upon  with  tricks  and  fallacies.  The  causes  of 
things  fall  under  natural  philosophy,  arguments  under  ra- 
tional, and  actions  under  7noral.  Moral  philosophy  is  again 
divided  into  matter  of  justice,  which  arises  from  the  esti- 
mation of  things  and  of  men ; and  into  affections  and  ac- 
tions ; and  a failing  in  any  one  of  these,  disorders  all  the 
rest : for  what  does  it  profit  us  to  know  the  true  value  of 
things,  if  we  be  transported  by  our  passions  1 or  to  master 
our  appetites  without  understanding  the  when,  the  what,  tlie 
hoiD,  and  other  circumstances  of  our  proceedings'!  For  it  is 
one  thing  to  know  the  rate  and  dignity  of  things,  and  an- 
other to  know  the  little  nicks  and  springs  of  acting.  Natural 
philosophy  is  conversant  about  things  corporeal  and  incorpo- 
real ; the  disquisition  of  causes  and  effects,  and  the  contem- 
plation of  the  cause  of  causes.  Rational  philosophy  is  di- 
vided into  logic  and  rhetoric ; the  one  looks  after  words, 
sense,  and  order ; the  other  treats  barely  of  words,  and  the 
significations  of  them.  Socrates  places  all  philosophy  in 
morals ; and  wisdom  in  the  distinguishing  of  g'ooi/  and  evil. 
It  is  the  art  and  law  of  life,  and  it  teaches  us  what  to  do  in 
all  cases,  and,  like  good  marksmen,  to  hit  the  white  at  any 
distance.  Tlie  force  of  it  is  incredible;  for  it  gives  us  in 
the  weakness  of  a man  the  security  of  a spirit : in  sickness 
it  is  as  good  as  a remedy  to  us ; for  whatsoever  eases  the 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


95 


mind  is  profitable  also  to  the  body.  The  physician  may 
prescribe  diet  and  exercise,  and  accommodate  liis  rule  and 
medicine  to  the  disease,  but  it  is  philosophy  that  must  bring 
us  to  a contempt  of  death,  which  is  the  remedy  of  all  dis- 
eases. In  poverty  it  gives  us  riches,  or  such  a state  of  mind 
as  makes  them  superfluous  to  us.  It  arms  us  against  all 
difficulties:  one  man  is  pressed  with  death,  another  with 
poverty ; some  with  envy,  others  are  offended  at  Providence, 
and  unsatisfied  with  the  condition  of  mankind  : hut  philoso~ 
phy  prompts  us  to  relieve  the  prisoner,  the  infirm,  the  ne- 
cessitous, the  condemned  ; to  show  the  ignorant  their  errors, 
and  rectify  their  affections.  It  makes  us  inspect  and  govern 
our  manners;  it  rouses  us  where  we  are  faint  and  drowsy; 
it  binds  up  what  is  loose,  and  humbles  in  us  that  which  is 
contumacious : it  delivers  the  mind  from  the  bondage  of  the 
body,  and  raises  it  up  to  the  contemplation  of  its  divine  ori- 
ginal. Honors,  monuments,  and  all  the  works  of  vanity  and 
ambition,  are  demolished  and  destroyed  by  time ; but  the 
reputation,  of  wisdom  is  venerable  to  posterity : and  those 
that  were  envied  or  neglected  in  their  lives  are  adored  in 
their  memories,  and  exempted  from  the  very  laws  of  created 
nature,  which  has  set  bounds  to  all  other  things.  The  very 
shadow  of  glory  carries  a man  of  honor  upon  all  dangers,  to 
the  contempt  of  fire  and  sword ; and  it  were  a shame  if 
right  reason  should  not  inspire  as  generous  resolutions  into 
a man  of  virtue. 

Neither  is  philosophy  only  profitable  to  the  public,  but 
one  wise  man  helps  another,  even  in  the  exer-  one  wise  man 
cise  of  the  virtues;  and  the  one  has  need  of  teaches  an- 
the  other,  both  for  conversation  and  counsel ; other, 
for  they  kindle  a mutual  emulation  in  good  offices.  We  are 
not  so  perfect  yet,  but  that  many  new  things  remain  still  to 
be  found  out,  which  will  give  us  the  reciprocal  advantages 
of  instructing  one  another  : for  as  one  wicked  man  is  con- 
tagious to  another,  and  the  more  vices  are  mingled,  the 
worse  it  is,  so  is  it  on  the  contrary  with  good  men  and  their 
virtues.  As  men  of  letters  are  the  most  useful  and  excellent 
of  friends,  so  are  they  the  best  of  subjects ; as  being  better 
|udges  of  the  blessings  they  enjoy  under  a well-ordered  gov- 
ernment, and  of  what  they  owe  to  the  magistrate  for  their 
Teedom  and  protection.  They  are  men  of  sobriety  and 
learning,  and  free  from  boasting  and  insolence ; they  reprove 
the  vice  without  reproaching  the  person : for  they  have 
leariied  to  be  wise  without  either  pomp  or  envy.  That  Vi'hich 


00 


SENECA.  OF  A HAPP'S  LIFE. 


we  see  in  Iiigh  mountains,  we  find  in  philosophers ; they 
seem  taller  near  hand  than  at  a distance.  They  are  raised 
above  other  men,  but  their  greatness  is  substantial.  Nor 
do  they  stand  upon  tiptoe,  that  they  may  seem  higher  than 
they  are,  but,  content  with  their  own  stature,  they  reckon 
themselves  tall  enough  when  fortune  cannot  reach  them. 
Their  laws  are  short,  and  yet  comprehensive  too,  for  they 
bind  all. 

It  is  the  bounty  of  nature  that  we  live  ; but  of  philosophy 
Philosophy  that  we  live  well,  which  is  in  truth  a greater 
teaches  us  to  benefit  than  life  itself.  Not  but  that  philoso- 
iive  well,  jg  of  Heaven,  so  far  as  to  the 

faculty,  but  not  to  the  science ; for  that  must  be  the  busi- 
ness of  industry.  No  man  is  born  wise;  but  wisdom  and 
virtue  require  a tutor,  though  we  can  easily  learn  to  be 
vicious  without  a master.  . It  is  philosophy  that  gives  us  a 
veneration  for  God,  a charity  for  our  neighbor,  that  teaches 
us  our  duty  to  Heaven,  and  exhorts  us  to  an  agreement  one 
with  another  ; it  unmasks  things  that  are  terrible  to  us,  as- 
suages our  lusts,  refutes  our  errors,  restrains  our  luxury, 
reproves  our  avarice,  and  works  strangely  upon  tender  na- 
tures. I could  never  hear  Attalus  (says  Seneca)  upon  the 
vices  of  the  age  and  the  errors  of  life,  without  a compassion 
for  mankind;  and  in  his  discourses  upon  poverty,  there  was 
something  methought  that  was  more  than  human.  “More 
than  we  use,”  says  he,  “ is  more  than  we  need,  and  only  a 
burden  to  the  bearer.”  That  saying  of  his  put  me  out  of 
countenance  at  the  superfluities  of  my  own  fortune.  And 
so  in  his  invectives  against  vain  pleasures,  he  did  at  such  a 
rate  advance  the  felicities  of  a sober  table,  a pure  mind,  and 
a chaste  body,  that  a man  could  not  hear  him  without  a love 
for  continence  and  moderation.  Upon  these  lectures  of  his, 
I denied  myself,  for  a while  after,  certain  delicacies  that  I 
had  formerly  used : but  in  a short  time  I fell  to  them  again, 
though  so  sparingly,  that  the  proportion  came  little  short  of 
a total  abstinence. 

Now,  to  show  you  (says  our  author)  how  much  earnester 
Youth  is  apt  to  entrance  upon  philosophy  was  than  my 
take  good  im-  progress,  my  tutor  Sotion  gave  me  a wonder- 
pressions.  i^jnj,)ess  for  Pythagoras,  and  after  him  for 
Sextius:  the  former  forbore  shedding  of  blood  upon  his 
metempsychosis : and  put  men  in  fear  of  it,  lest  they  should 
offer  violence  to  the  souls  of  some  of  their  departed  friends 
or  relations.  “ Whether,”  says  he,  “ there  be  a transmigra- 


srNECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


97 


t'on  or  not;  if  it  oe  true,  there  is  no  hurt  in  it;  if  false, 
there  is  frugality : and  nothing  is  gotten  by  cruelty  neither, 
but  the  cozening  a wolf,  perhaps,  or  a vulture,  of  a supper.” 
Now,  Sextius  abstained  upon  another  account,  which  was, 
that  he  would  not  have  men  inured  to  hardness  of  heart  by 
the  laceration  and  tormenting  of  living  creatures ; beside, 
that  Nature  had  sufficiently  provided  for  the  sustenance  of 
mankind  without  blood.”  This  wrought  so  far  upon  me  that 
I gave  over  eating  of  flesh,  and  in  one  year  I made  it  not 
only  easy  to  me  but  pleasant;  my  mind  methought  was 
more  at  liberty,  (and  I am  still  of  the  same  opinion,)  but  I 
gave  it  over  nevertheless;  and  the  reason  was  this:  it  was 
imputed  as  a superstition  to  the  Jews,  the  forbearance  of 
some  sorts  of  flesh,  and  my  father  brought  me  back  again 
to  my  old  custom,  that  I might  not  be  thought  tainted  with 
their  superstition.  Nay,  and  I had  much  ado  to  prevail  upon 
myself  to  suffer  it  too.  I make  use  of  this  instance  to  show 
the  aptness  of  youth  to  take  good  impressions,  if  there  be  a 
friend  at  hand  to  press  them.  Philosophers  are  the  tutors  of 
mankind  ; if  they  have  found  out  remedies  for  the  mind,  it 
must  be  our  part  to  apply  them.  I cannot  think  of  Cato, 
I.elius,  Socrates,  Plato,  without  veneration : their  very  names 
are  sacred  to  me.  Philosophy  is  the  health  of  the  mind ; 
let  us  look  to  that  health  first,  and  in  the  second  place  to 
that  of  the  body,  which  may  be  had  upon  easier  terms ; for 
a strong  arm,  a robust  constitution,  or  the  skill  of  procuring 
this,  is  not  a philosopher’s  business.  He  does  some  things 
as  a wise  man,  and  other  things  as  he  is  a man;  and  he 
may  have  strength  of  body  as  well  as  of  mind  ; but  if  he 
runs,  or  casts  the  sledge,  it  were  injurious  to  ascribe  that 
to  his  wisdom  which  is  common  to  the  greatest  of  fools.  He 
studies  ratlier  to  fill  his  mind  than  his  coflers;  and  he  knows 
that  gold  and  silver  were  mingled  with  dirt,  until  avarice 
or  ambition  parted  them.  His  life  is  ordinate,  fearless,  equal, 
secure ; he  stands  firm  in  all  extremities,  and  bears  the  lot 
of  his  humanity  with  a divine  temper.  There  is  a great 
difference  betwixt  the  splendor  of  philosophy  and  of  fortune; 
the  one  shines  with  an  original  light,  the  other  with  a bor- 
rowed one ; beside  that  it  makes  us  happy  and  immortal:  for 
learning  shall  outlive  palaces  and  monuments.  The  house 
of  a wise  man  is  safe,  though  narrow ; there  is  neither  noise 
nor  furniture  in  it,  no  porter  at  the  door,  nor  any  thing  that 
is  either  vendible  or  mercenary,  nor  any  business  of  fortune, 
for  she  has  nothing  to  do  where  she  has  nothing  to  look 


J8 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


after.  This  is  the  way  to  Heaven  which  Nature  has  chalked 
out,  and  it  is  both  secure  and  pleasant ; there  needs  no  train 
of  servants,  no  pomp  or  equipage,  to  make  good  our  passage ; 
no  money,  or  letters  of  credit,  for  expenses  upon  the  voyage ; 
but  the  graces  of  an  honest  mind  will  serve  us  upon  the  way, 
and  make  us  happy  at  our  journey’s  end. 

To  tell  you  my  opinion  now  of  the  liberal  sciences;  I 

have  no  great  esteem  for  any  thing  that  ter- 

ciices  are  mat-  niinates  in  profit  or  money ; and  yet  I shall 
terj  rather  of  allow  them  to  be  so  far  beneficial,  as  they 
prepare  the  understanding  without  de- 
taining it.  They  are  but  the  rudiments  of 
wisdom,  and  only  then  to  be  learned  when  the  mind  is  ca- 
pable of  nothing  better,  and  the  knowledge  of  them  is  bet- 
ter worth  the  keeping  than  the  acquiring.  They  do  not  so 
much  as  pretend  to  the  making  of  us  virtuous,  but  only  to 
give  us  an  aptitude  of  disposition  to  be  so.  The  gramma- 
rian's business  lies  in  a syntax  of  speech ; or  if  he  proceed 
to  history,  or  the  measuring  of  a verse,  he  is  at  the  end  of 
his  line;  but  what  signifies  a congruity  of  periods,  the 
computing  of  syllables,  or  the  modifying  of  numbers,  to  the 
taming  of  our  passions,  or  the  repressing  of  our  lusts '!  The 
philosopher  proves  the  body  of  the  sun  to  be  large,  but  for 
the  true  dimensions  of  it  we  must  ask  the  mathematician: 
geometry  and  music,  if  they  do  not  teach  us  to  master  our 
hopes  and  fears,  all  the  rest  is  to  little  purpose.  What  does 
it  concern  us  which  was  the  elder  of  the  two,  Homer  or 
Hesiod]  or  which  was  the  taller,  Helen  or  Hecuba]  We 
take  a great  deal  of  pains  to  trace  Ulysses  in  his  wander- 
ings; but  were  it  not  time  as  well  spent  to  look  to  ourselves 
that  we  may  not  wander  at  all]  Are  not  we  ourselves  toss- 
ed with  tempestuous  passions]  and  both  assaulted  by  terri- 
ble ?nonsfer.s  on  the  one  hand,  and  temptedhy  syrens  on  tlie 
other]  Teach  me  my  duty  to  my  country,  to  my  father,  to 
to  my  wife,  to  mankind.  What  is  to  me  whether  Penelope 
was  honest  or  not  ] teach  me  to  know  how  to  be  so  myself, 
and  to  live  according  to  that  knowledge.  What  am  I the 
better  for  putting  so  many  parts  together  in  music,  and  rais- 
ing a harmony  out  of  so  many  different  tones  1 teach  me  to 
tune  my  affections,  and  to  hold  constant  to  myself  Geom- 
etry teaches  me  the  art  of  measuring  acres ; teach  me  to 
measure  my  appetites,  and  to  know  when  I have  enough ; 
teach  me  to  divide  with  my  brother,  and  to  rejoice  in  the 
prosperity  of  my  neighbor.  You  teach  me  how  I mav  hold 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


93 

Tiy  own,  and  keep  my  estate ; but  I would  rather  learn  how 
I may  lose  it  all,  and  yet  be  contented.  “ It  is  hard,”  you 
will  say,  “ fbr  a man  to  be  forced  from  the  fortune  of  his 
family.”  This  estate,  it  is  true,  was  my  father's ; but  whose 
was  it  in  the  time  of  my  great-grandfather  ? I do  not  only 
say,  what  man's  was  it  1 but  what  nation's  1 The  astrolo- 
ger tells  me  of  Saturn  and  Mars  in  opposition ; but  I say, 
let  them  be  as  they  will,  their  courses  and  their  positions 
are  ordered  them  by  an  unchangeable  decree  of  fate.  Either 
they  produce  and  point  out  the  effects  of  all  things,  or  else 
they  signify  them  ; if  the  former,  what  are  we  the  better  for 
the  knowledge  of  that  which  must  of  necessity  come  to  pass  1 
If  the  latter,  what  does  it  avail  us  to  foresee  what  we  cannot 
avoid  1 So  that  whether  we  know  or  not  know,  the  event 
will  still  be  the  same. 

He  that  designs  the  institution  of  human  life  should  not 
be  over-curious  of  his  words  , it  does  not  stand  ^ 
with  his  dignity  to  be  solicitous  about  sounds  a 

and  syllables,  and  to  debase  the  mind  of  man  philosopher  to 
with  small  and  trivial  things ; placing  wisdom  about'*vvords 
in  matters  that  are  rather  difficult  than  great. 

If  it  be  eloquent,  it  is  his  good  fortune,  not  his  business. 
Subtle  disputations  are  only  the  sport  of  wits,  that  play  upon 
the  catch,  and  are  fitter  to  be  contemned  than  resolved. 
Were  not  I a madman  to  sit  wrangling  about  words,  and 
putting  of  nice  and  impertinent  questions,  when  the  enemy 
has  already  made  the  breach,  the  town  fired  over  my  head, 
and  the  mine  ready  to  play  that  shall  blow  me  up  into  the 
air!  were  this  a time  for  fooleries]  Let  me  rather  fortify 
myself  against  death  and  inevitable  necessities ; let  me  un- 
derstand that  the  good  of  life  does  not  consist  in  the  length 
or  space,  but  in  the  use  of  it.  When  I go  to  sleep,  who 
knows  whether  ever  I shall  wake  again  ] and  when  I wake, 
whether  ever  I shall  sleep  again  ] When  I go  abroad, 
whether  ever  I shall  come  home  again  1 and  when  I return, 
whether  ever  I shall  go  abroad  again  ] It  is  not  at  sea  only 
that  life  and  death  are  within  a few  inches  one  of  another ; 
but  they  are  as  near  everywhere  else  too,  only  we  do  not 
take  so  much  notice  of  it.  What  have  we  to  do  with  frivo- 
lous and  captious  questions,  and  impertinent  niceties]  Let 
)is  rather  study  how  to  deliver  ourselves  from  sadness,  fear, 
and  the  burden  of  all  our  secret  lusts : let  us  pass  over  all 
our  most  solemn  levities,  and  make  haste  to  a good  life, 
which  is  a thing  that  presses  us.  Sliall  a man  that  goes  for 


100 


St./ECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


a midwife,  stand  gaping  upon  a post  to  see  what  play  to-day  '< 
or,  when  his  house  is  on  fire,  stay  the  curling  of  a periwig 
before  he  calls  for  help]  Our  houses  are  on  fire,  our  country 
invaded,  our  goods  taken  away,  our  children  in  danger;  and, 
I might  add  to  these,  the  calamities  of  earthquakes,  ship- 
wrecks, and  whatever  else  is  most  terrible.  Is  this  a time 
for  us  now  to  be  playing  fast  and  loose  with  idle  questions, 
which  are  in  effect  but  so  many  unprofitable  riddles]  Our 
duty  is  the  cure  of  the  mind  rather  than  the  delight  of  it; 
but  we  have  only  the  words  of  wisdom  without  the  works; 
and  turn  philosophy  into  a pleasure  that  was  given  for  a 
remedy.  What  can  be  more  ridiculous  than  for  a man  to 
neglect  Yds  manners  and  compose  \ds  style?  We  are  sick 
and  iilcerous,  and  must  be  lanced  and  scarified,  and  every 
man  has  as  much  business  within  himself  as  a physician  in 
a common  pestilence.  “Misfortunes,”  in  fine,  “cannot  be 
avoided  ; but  they  may  be  sweetened,  if  not  overcome ; and 
our  lives  may  be  made  happy  by  philosophy.” 


CHAP.  V. 

The  force  of  precepts. 

There  seems  to  be  so  near  an  affinity  betwixt  wisdom, 
philosophy,  and  good  counsels,  that  it  is  rather  matter  of  cu- 
riosity than  of  profit  to  divide  them ; philosophy,  being  only 
a limited  wisdom  ; and  good  counsels  a communication  of 
that  wisdom,  for  the  good  of  others,  as  well  as  of  ourselves; 
and  to  posterity,  as  well  as  to  the  present.  The  wisdom  of 
the  ancients,  as  to  the  government  of  life,  was  no  more  than 
certain  precepts,  what  to  do  and  what  not:  and  men  were 
much  better  in  that  simplicity ; for  as  they  came  to  be  more 
learned,  they  grew  less  careful  oi  being  good.  That  plain 
and  open  virtue  is  now  turned  into  a dark  and  intricate 
science ; and  we  are  taught  to  dispute  rather  than  to  live. 
So  long  as  wickedness  was  simple,  simple  remedies  also 
were  sufficient  against  it;  but  now  it  has  taken  root,  and 
spread,  we  must  make  use  of  stronger. 

There  are  some  dispositions  that  embrace  good  things  as 
The  best  of  us  them ; but  they  will  still 

are  yet  the  bet-  need  quickening  by  admonition  and  precept, 
ter  for  admoni-  We  are  rash  and  forward  in  some  cases,  and 
tion  and  precept,  others ; and  there  is  no  repressing  of 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


101 


the  one  humor,  or  raising’  of  the  other,  but  by  removing 
the  causes  of  them ; ■which  are  (in  one  word)  false  admira- 
tion and  false  fear.  Every  man  knows  his  duty  to  his  coun- 
try, to  his  friends,  to  his  guests;  and  yet  when  he  is  called 
upon  to  draw  his  sword  for  the  one,  or  to  labor  for  the  other, 
he  finds  himself  distracted  betwixt  his  apprehensions  and  his 
delights : he  knows  well  enough  the  injury  he  does  his  wife 
in  the  keeping  of  a wench,  and  yet  his  lust  overrules  him : 
so  that  it  is  not  enough  to  give  good  advice,  unless  we  can 
take  away  that  which  hinders  the  benefit  of  it.  If  a man 
does  what  he  ought  to  do,  he  will  never  do  it  constantly  or 
equally,  without  knowing  why  he  does  it : and  if  it  be  only 
chance  or  custom,  he  that  does. well  by  chance,  may  do  ill 
so  too.  And  farther,  a precept  may  direct  us  what  we  ought 
to  do,  and  yet  fall  short  in  the  manner  of  doing  it:  an  ex- 
pensive entertainment  may,  in  one  case,  be  extravagance 
or  gluttony,  and  yet  a point  of  honor  and  discretion  in  an- 
other. Tiberius  Caesar  had  a huge  mullet  presented  him, 
which  he  sent  to  the  market  to  be  sold : “ and  now,”  says 
he,  “ my  masters,”  to  some  company  with  him,  “ you  shall 
see  that  either  Apicius  or  Octavius  will  be  the  chapman 
for  this  fish.”  Octavius  beat  the  price,  and  gave  about  thirty 
pounds  sterling  for  it.  Now,  there  was  a great  difference 
between  Octavius,  that  bought  it  for  his  luxury,  and  the 
other  that  purchased  it  for  a compliment  to  Tiberius.  Pre- 
cepts are  idle,  if  we  be  not  first  taught  what  opinion  we  are 
to  have  of  the  matter  in  question ; whether  it  be  poverty, 
riches,  disgrace,  sickness,  banishment,  &c.  Let  us  therefore 
examine  them  one  by  one ; not  what  they  are  called,  but 
what  in  truth  they  are.  And  so  for  the  virtues  ; it  is  to  no 
purpose  to  set  a high  esteem  upon  prudence,  fortitude,  tem- 
perance, justice,  if  we  do  not  first  know  what  virtue  is ; 
whether  one  or  more  ; or  if  he  that  has  one,  has  all;  or  how 
they  differ. 

Precepts  are  of  great  weight;  and  a few  useful  ones  at 
hand  do  more  toward  a happy  life  than  whole  ^he  power  of 
volumes  or  cautions,  that  we  know  not  where  precepts  ami 
to  find.  These  salutary  precepts  should  be  our  sentences, 
daily  meditation,  for  they  are  the  rules  by  which  we  ought 
to  square  our  lives.  When  they  are  contracted  into  sen- 
tences, they  strike  the  affections:  whereas  admonition  is 
only  blowing  of  the  coal;  it  moves  the  vigor  of  the  mind, 
and  excites  virtue ; we  have  the  thing  already,  but  we  know 
:>ot  where  it  lies.  It  is  by  precept  that  the  understanding  is 


102 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  tIFE. 


nourished  and  augmented : the  offices  of  prudence  and  justice 
are  guided  by  them,  and  they  lead  us  to  the  execution  of  our 
duties.  A /ireccpt  delivered  in  uerse  has  a much  greater  effect 
than  in  prose:  and  those  very  people  that  never  think  they 
have  enough,  lot  them  but  hear  a sharp  sentence  against  aua- 
rtce,  how  will  they  clap  and  admire  it,  and  bid  open  defiance 
to  money  1 So  soon  as  we  find  the  affections  struck,  we  must 
follow  the  blow;  not  with  syllogisms  or  quirks  of  wit  ; but 
with  plain  and  weighty  reason : and  we  must  do  it  with  kind- 
ness too,  and  respect : for  “there  goes  a blessing  along  with 
counsels  and  discourses  that  are  bent  wholly  upon  the  good 
of  the  hearCj-:”  and  those  are  still  the  most  efficacious  that 
take  reason  along  with  them  ; and  tell  us  as  well  why  we  are 
to  do  this  or  that,  as  what  we  are  to  do : for  some  understand- 
ings are  weak,  and  need  an  instructor  to  expound  to  them 
what  is  good  and  what  is  evil.  It  is  a great  virtue  tolove,  to 
give,  and  to  follow  good  counsel;  if  it  does  not  lead  us  to 
honesty,  it  does  at  least /jrom/it  us  to  it.  As  several  parts 
make  up  but  one  harmony,  and  the  most  agreeable  music 
arises  from  discords ; so  should  a wise  man  gather  many  acts, 
many  precepts,  and  the  examples  of  many  arts,  to  inform  his 
own  life.  Our  forefathers  have  left  us  in  charge  to  avoid 
three  things;  hatred,  envy,  and  contempt;  now,  it  is  hard  to 
avoid  envy  and  not  incur  contempt;  for  in  taking  too  much 
care  not  to  usurp  upon  others,  we  become  many  times  liable 
to  be  trampled  upon  ourselves.  Some  people  are  afraid  of 
others,  because  it  is  possible  that  others  may  be  afraid  of  them : 
but  let  us  secure  ourselves  upon  all  hands ; for  flattery  is  as 
dangerous  as  contempt.  It  is  not  to  say,  in  case  of  admoni- 
tion, I knew  this  before : for  we  know  many  things,  but  we 
do  not  think  of  them ; so  that  it  is  the  part  of  a monitor,  not 
so  much  to  teach  as  to  mind  us  of  our  duties.  Sometimes  a 
man  oversees  that  which  lies  just  under  his  nose ; otherwhile 
he  is  careless,  or  pretends  not  to  see  it;  we  do  all  know 
hat  friendship  is  sacred,  and  yet  we  violate  it ; and  the 
greatest  libertine  expects  that  his  own  wife  should  be  honest. 
Good  counsel  is  the  most  needful  service  that  we  can  do 
Good  counsel  mankind ; and  if  we  give  it  to  many,  it 
is  the  best  will  be  sure  to  profit  some : for  of  many  trials, 
service  vve  can  some  or  other  will  undoubtedly  succeed.  He 
do  to  maiikinu.  . 1 . • r>  \,- 

that  places  a man  in  the  possession  oi  him- 
self  does  a great  thing ; for  wisdom  does  not  show  itself  so 
much  in  precept  as  in  life;  in  a firmness  of  mind  and  a 
mastery  of  appetite:  it  teaches  us  to  do  as  well  as  to  talk: 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE.  lOJl 

and  to  make  our  words  and  actions  all  of  a color.  If  tliat 
fruit  be  pleasantest  which  we  gather  from  a tree  of  our  oA^n 
planting,  how  much  greater  delight  shall  we  take  in  the 
growth  and  increase  of  good  manners  of  our  own  forming ! 
It  is  an  eminent  mark  of  wisdom  for  a man  to  be  always 
like  himself.  You  shall  have  some  that  keep  a thrifty  table, 
and  lavish  out  upon  building;  profuse  upon  themselves, 
and  forhid  to  others;  niggardly  at  home,  and  lavish  abroad. 
This  diversity  is  vicious,  and  the  effect  of  a dissatisfied  and 
uneasy  mind ; whereas  every  wise  man  lives  by  rule. 
This  disagreement  of  purposes  arises  from  hence,  either 
that  we  do  not  propound  to  ourselves  what  we  would  be  at ; 
or  if  we  do,  that  we  do  not  pursue  it,  but  pass  from  one 
thing  to  another ; and  we  do  not  only  change  neither,  but 
return  to  the  very  thing  which  we  had  both  quitted  and  con- 
demned. 

In  all  our  undertakings,  let  us  first  examine  our  own 
strength ; the  enterprise  next ; and,  thirdly, 
the  persons  with  whom  we  have  to  do.  The  jq  be  examUied 
first  point  is  most  important ; for  we  are  apt  in  all  our  un 
to  overvalue  ourselves,  and  reckon  that  we  dertakings 
can  do  more  than  indeed  we  can.  One  man  sets  up  for  a 
speaker,  and  is  out  as  soon  as  he  opens  his  mouth ; another 
overcharges  his  estate,  perhaps,  or  his  body : a bashful  man  is 
not  fit  for  public  business:  some  again  are  too  stiff  and  peremp- 
tory for  the  court;  many  people  are  apt  to  fly  out  in  their 
anger,  nay,  and  in  a frolic  too ; if  any  sharp  thing  fall  in  their 
way,  they  will  rather  venture  a neck  than  lose  a jest. 
These  people  had  better  be  quiet  in  the  world  than  busy. 
Let  him  that  is  naturally  choleric  and  impatient  avoid  all 
provocations,  and  those  affairs  also  that  multiply  and  draw 
on  more;  and  those  also  from  which  there  is  no  retreat. 
When  we  may  come  off"  at  pleasure,  and  fairly  hope  to 
bring  our  matters  to  a period,  it  is  well  enough.  If  it  so 
happen  that  a man  be  tied  up  to  business,  which  he  can 
neither  loosen  nor  break  off,  let  him  imagine  those  shackles 
upon  his  mind  to  be  irons  upon  his  legs : they  are  trouble- 
some at  first ; but  when  there  is  no  remedy  but  patience, 
custom  makes  them  easy  to  us,  and  necessity  gives  us 
courage.  We  are  all  slaves  to  fortune;  some  only  in  loose 
and  golden  chains,  others  in  strait  ones,  and  coarser : nay, 
and  they  that  bind  us  are  slaves  too  themselves ; some  tc 
honor,  ol  hers  to  wealth ; some  to  offices,  and  others  to  con- 
tempt; s me  to  their  superiors,  others  to  themselves : nay, 


104 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


life  itself  is  a servitude : let  us  make  the  best  of  it  then, 
and  with  our  philosophy  mend  our  fortune.  Difficulties 
may  be  softened,  and  heavy  burdens  disposed  of  to  our 
ease.  Let  us  covet  nothing  out  of  our  reach,  but  content 
ourselves  with  things  hopeful  and  at  hand ; and  without 
envying  the  advantages  of  others:  for  greatness  stands 
upon  a craggy  precipice,  and  it  is  much  safer  and  quieter 
living  upon  a level.  How  many  great  men  are  forced  to 
keep  their  station  upon  mere  necessity ; because  they  find 
there  is  no  coming  down  from  it  but  headlong"!  These  men 
should  do  well  to  fortify  themselves  against  ill  consequen- 
ces by  such  virtues  and  meditations  as  may  make  them  less 
solicitous  for  the  future.  The  surest  expedient  in  this  case 
is  to  bound  our  desires,  and  to  leave  nothing  to  fortune 
which  we  may  keep  in  our  own  power.  Neither  will  this 
course  wholly  compose  us,  but  it  shows  us  at  worst  the  end 
of  our  troubles. 

It  is  but  a main  point  to  take  care  that  we  propose  nothing 
hut  what  is  hopeful  and  honest.  For  it  will 
thing'i^iu  vv'hat  equally  troublesome  to  us,  either  not  to 
is  hopeful  aiui  succeed.  Or  to  be  ashamed  of  the  success, 
honest.  Wherefore  let  us  be  sure  not  to  admit  any  ill 
design  into  our  heart;  that  we  may  lift  up  pure  hands  to 
heaven,  and  ask  nothing  which  another  shall  be  a loser  by. 
Let  us  pray  for  a good  mind,  which  is  a wish  to  no  man’s 
injury.  I will  remember  always  that  I am  a man,  and  then 
consider,  that  if  I am  happtj,  it  will  not  last  always ; if  un- 
happy, I may  be  other  if  1 please.  I will  carry  my  life  in 
my  hand,  and  deliver  it  up  readily  when  it  shall  be  called  for. 
I will  have  a care  of  being  a sla  ve  to  myself ; for  it  is  a per- 
petual, a shameful,  and  the  heaviest  of  all  servitudes : and 
this  may  be  done  by  moderate  desires.  I will  say  to  myself, 
“ What  is  it  that  I labor,  sweat,  and  solicit  for,  when  it  is 
but  very  little  that  I want,  and  it  will  not  be  long  that  I shall 
need  any  thing!”  He  that  would  make  a trial  of  the  firm- 
ness of  his  mind,  let  him  set  certain  days  apart  for  the  prac- 
tice of  his  virtues.  Let  him  mortify  himself  with  fasting 
coarse  clothes,  and  hard  lodging;  and  then  say  to  himself, 
“ Is  this  the  thing  now  that  I was  afraid  of!”  In  a state  of 
security,  a man  may  thus  prepare  himself  against  hazard-s, 
and  in  plenty  fortify  himself  against  want.  If  you  will  have 
a man  resolute  when  he  comes  to  the  push,  train  him  up  to 
it  beforehand.  The  soldier  does  duty  in  peace,  that  lie  may 
be  in  breath  when  lie  comes  to  battle.  How  many  great  and 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


105 


wise  men  have  made  experiment  of  their  moderation  by  a 
practice  of  abstinence,  to  the  highest  degree  of  hunger  and 
thirst ; and  convinced  themselves  that  a man  may  fill  his 
belly  without  being  beholden  to  fortune ; which  never  denies 
any  of  us  wherewith  to  satisfy  our  necessities,  though  she 
be  never  so  angry ! It  is  as  easy  to  suffer  it  always  as  to 
try  it  once;  and  it  is  no  more  than  thousands  of  servants 
and  poor  people  do  every  day  in  their  lives.  He  that  would 
live  happily,  must  neither  trust  to  good  fortune  nor  submit 
to  bad:  he  must  stand  upon  his  guard  against  all  assaults; 
he  must  stick  to  himself,  without  any  dependence  upon  other 
people.  Where  the  mind  is  tinctured  with  philosophy,  there 
is  no  place  for  grief,  anxiety,  or  superfluous  vexations.  It 
is  prepossessed  with  virtue  to  the  neglect  of  fortune,  which 
brings  us  to  a degree  of  security  not  to  be  disturbed.  It  is 
easier  to  give  counsel  than  to  take  it;  and  a common  thing 
for  one  choleric  man  to  condemn  another.  We  may  be 
sometimes  earnest  in  advising,  but  not  violent  or  tedious. 
Few  words,  with  gentleness  and  efficacy,  are  best : the  misery 

is,  that  the  wise  do  not  need  counsel,  and  fools  will  not  take 

it.  A good  man,  it  is  true,  delights  in  it;  and  it  is  a mark  of 
folly  and  ill-nature  to  hate  reproof.  To  a friend  I would  be 
always  frank  and  plain ; and  rather  fail  in  the  success  than 
be  wanting  in  the  matter  of  faith  and  trust.  There  are 
some  precepts  that  serve  in  common  both  to  the  rich  and 
poor,  but  they  are  too  general ; as  “ Cure  your  avarice,  and 
the  work  is  done.”  It  is  one  thing  not  to  desire  money,  and 
another  thing  not  to  understand  how  to  use  it.  In  the  choice 
of  the  persons  we  have  to  do  withal,  we  should  see  that 
they  be  worth  our  while;  in  the  choice  of  our  business,  we 
are  to  consult  nature,  and  follow  our  inclinations.  He  that 
gives  sober  advice  to  a witty  droll  must  look  to  have  every 
thing  turned  into  ridicule.  “As  if  you  philosophers,”  says 
Marcellinus,  “did  not  love  your  whores  and  your  guts  as 
well  as  other  people :”  and  then  he  tells  you  of  such  and 
such  that  were  taken  in  the  manner.  We  are  all  sick,  I must 
confess,  and  it  is  not  for  sick  men  to  play  the  physicians ; 
but  it  is  yet  lawful  for  a man  in  an  hospital  to  discourse  of 
the  common  condition  and  distempers  of  the  place.  He  that 
should  pretend  to  teach  a madman  how  to  speak,  walk,  and 
behave  himself,  were  not  he  the*most  mad  man  of  the  twol 
He  that  directs  the  pilot,  makes  him  move  the  helm,  order 
the  sails  so  or  so,  and  makes  the  best  of  a scant  wind,  after 
this  or  that  manner.  And  so  should  we  do  in  our  counsels. 


106 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


Do  not  tell  me  what  a man  should  do  in  health  or  poverty, 
out  show  me  the  way  to  be  either  sound  or  rich.  Teach  me 
to  master  my  vices ; for  it  is  to  no  purpose,  so  long  as  I am 
under  their  government,  to  tell  me  what  I must  do  when  I 
am  clear  of  it.  In  case  of  an  avarice  a little  eased,  a luxury 
moderated,  a temerity  restrained,  a sluggish  humor  quick- 
ened ; precepts  will  then  help  us  forward,  and  tutor  us  how 
to  behave  ourselves.  It  is  the  first  and  the  main  tie  of  a sol- 
dier his  military  oath,  which  is  an  engagement  upon  him 
both  of  religion  and  honor.  In  like  manner,  he  that  pretends 
to  a happy  life  must  first  lay  a foundation  of  virtue,  as  a 
bond  upon  him,  to  live  and  die  true  to  that  cause.  We  do 
not  find  felicity  in  the  veins  of  the  earth  where  we  dig  for 
gold,  nor  in  the  bottom  of  the  sea  where  we  fish  for  pearls, 
but  in  a pure  and  untainted  mind,  which,  if  it  were  not  holy, 
were  not  fit  to  entertain  the  Deity.  “ He  that  would  be 
truly  happy,  must  think  his  own  lot  best,  and  so  live  with 
men,  as  considering  that  God  sees  him,  and  so  speak  to  God 
as  if  men  heard  him.” 


CHAP.  VI. 

No  felicity  like  peace  of  conscience. 

“ A GOOD  conscience  is  the  testimony  of  a good  life,  and 
the  reward  of  it.”  This  is  it  that  fortifies  the  mind  against 
fortune,  when  a man  has  gotten  the  mastery  of  his  passions ; 
placed  his  treasure  and  security  within  himself ; learned  to 
be  content  with  his  condition  ; and  that  death  is  no  evil  in 
itself,  but  only  the  end  of  man.  He  that  has  dedicated  his 
mind  to  virtue,  and  to  the  good  of  human  society,  whereof 
ne  is  a member,  has  consummated  all  that  is  either  profita- 
ble or  necessary  for  him  to  know  or  to  do  toward  the  estab- 
lishment of  his  peace.  Every  man  has  a judge  and  a wit- 
ness within  himself  of  all  the  good  and  ill  that  he  does,  which 
inspires  us  with  great  thoughts,  and  administers  to  us  whole- 
some counsels.  We  have  a veneration  for  all  the  works  of 
Nature,  the  heads  of  rivers,  and  the  springs  of  medicinal 
waters ; the  horrors  of  groves  and  of  caves  strike  us  with  an 
imptession  of  religion  and  worship.  To  see  a man  fearless 
in  dangers,  untainted  with  lusts,  happy  in  adversity,  composed 
in  a tumult,  and  laughing  at  all  those  things  which  are 
generally  either  coveted  or  feared;  all  men  must  Jicknow- 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


107 


icdgia  that  this  can  be  nothing  else  but  a beam  of  divinity  that 
influences  a mortal  body.  And  this  is  it  that  carries  us  to 
the  disquisition  of  things  divine  and  human  ; what  the  state 
of  the  world  was  before  the  distribution  of  the  first  matter 
into  parts ; what  power  it  was  that  drew  order  out  of  that 
confusion,  and  gave  laws  both  to  the  whole,  and  to  every 
particle  thereof ; what  that  space  is  beyond  the  world  ; and 
whence  proceed  the  several  operations  of  Nature.  Shall 
any  man  see  the  glory  and  order  of  the  universe ; so  many 
scattered  parts  and  qualities  wrought  into  one  mass ; such 
a medley  of  things,  which  are  yet  distinguished : the  world 
enlightened,  and  the  disorders  of  it  so  wonderfully  regulated ; 
and  shall  he  not  consider  the  Author  and  Disposer  of  all 
this ; and  whither  we  ourselves  shall  go,  when  our  souls 
shall  be  delivered  from  the  slavery  of  our  flesh  1 The  whole 
creation  we  see  conforms  to  the  dictates  of  Providence,  and 
follows  God  both  as  a governor  and  as  a guide.  A great, 
a good,  and  a right  mind,  is  a kind  of  divinity  lodged  in 
flesh,  and  may  be  the  blessing  of  a slave  as  well  as  of  a 
prince ; it  came  from  heaven,  and  to  heaven  it  must  return ; 
and  it  is  a kind  of  heavenly  felicity,  which  a pure  and  vir- 
tuous mind  enjoys,  in  some  degree,  even  upon  earth : 
whereas  temples  of  honor  are  but  empty  names,  which, 
probably,  owe  their  beginning  either  to  ambition  or  to  vio- 
lence. I am  strangely  transported  with  the  thoughts  of 
eternity ; nay,  with  the  belief  of  it ; for  I have  a profound 
veneration  for  the  opinions  of  great  men,  especially  when 
they  promise  things  so  much  to  my  satisfaction : for  they 
do  promise  them,  though  they  do  not  prove  them.  In  the 
question  of  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  it  goes  very  far 
with  me,  a general  consent  to  the  opinion  of  a future  reward 
and  punishment;  which  meditation  raises  me  to  the  con- 
tempt of  this  life,  in  hopes  of  a better.  But  still,  though 
we  know  that  we  have  a soul ; yet  what  the  soul  is,  how, 
and  from  whence,  we  are  utterly  ignorant ; this  only  we 
understand,  that  all  the  good  and  ill  we  do  is  under  the 
dominion  of  the  mind ; that  a clear  conscience  states  us  in 
an  inviolable  peace;  and  that  the  greatest  blessing  in 
Nature  is  that  which  every  honest  man  may  bestow  upon 
himself.  The  body  is  but  the  clog  and  prisoner  of  the 
mind  ; tossed  up  and  down,  and  persecuted  with  punish- 
ments, violences,  and  diseases;  but  the  mind  itself  is 
sacred  and  eternal,  and  exempt  from  the  danger  of  all 
actual  impression. 


108 


SENECA.  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


Provided  that  we  look  to  our  consciences,  no  matter  for 
Everyman’s  opinion:  let  me  deserve  well,  thoug-h  I hear 
consilience  is  ill.  The  common  people  take  stomach  and 
his  judge.  audacity  for  the  marks  of  magnanimity  and 
honor ; and  if  a man  be  soft  and  modest,  they  look  upon 
.nim  as  an  easy  fop ; but  when  they  come  once  to  observe 
the  dignity  of  his  mind  in  the  equality  and  firmness  of  his 
actions,  and  that  his  external  quiet  is  founded  upon  an  in- 
ternal peace,  the  very  same  people  have  him  in  esteem  and 
admiration : for  there  is  no  man  but  approves  of  virtue, 
though  but  few  pursue  it;  we  see  where  it  is,  but  we  dare 
not  venture  to  come  at  it : and  the  reason  is,  we  overvalue 
tliat  which  we  must  quit  to  obtain  it.  A good  conscience 
fears  no  witnesses,  but  a guilty  conscience  is  solicitous  even 
in  solitude.  If  we  do  nothing  but  what  is  honest,  let  all  the 
world  know  it;  but  if  otherwise,  what  does  it  signify  to 
have  nobody  else  know  it,  so  long  as  I know  it  myself! 
Miserable  is  he  that  slights  that  witness!  Wickedness,  it 
is  true,  may  escape  the  law,  but  not  the  conscience : for  a 
private  conviction  is  the  first  and  the  greatest  punishment 
of  offenders ; so  that  sin  plagues  itself ; and  the  fear  of 
vengeance  pursues  even  those  that  escape  the  stroke  of  it 
It  were  ill  for  good  men  that  iniquity  may  so  easily  evade 
the  law,  the  judge,  and  the  execution,  if  Nature  had  not 
set  up  torments  and  gibbets  in  the  consciences  of  transgres- 
sors. He  that  is  guilty  lives  in  perpetual  terror;  and  while 
he  expects  to  be  punished,  he  punishes  himself;  and  who- 
soever deserves  it  expects  it.  What  if  he  be  not  detected! 
he  is  still  in  apprehension  yet  that  he  may  be  so.  His  sleeps 
are  painful,  and  never  secure ; and  he  cannot  speak  of 
another  man’s  wickedness  without  thinking  of  his  own, 
whereas  a good  conscience  is  a continual  feast.  Those  are 
the  only  certain  and  profitable  delights,  which  arise  from 
the  consciousness  of  a well-acted  life;  no  matter  for  noise 
abroad,  so  long  as  we  are  quiet  within  : but  if  our  passions 
bo  seditious,  that  is  enough  to  keep  us  waking  without  any 
other  tumult.  It  is  not  the  posture  of  the  body,  or  the  com- 
posure of  the  bed,  that  will  give  rest  to  an  uneasy  mind: 
there  is  an  impatient  sloth  that  may  be  roused  by  action, 
and  the  vices  of  laziness  must  be  cured  by  business.  True 
happiness  is  not  to  be  found  in  excesses  of  wine,  or  of 
women,  or  in  the  largest  prodigalities  of  fortune;  what  she 
has  given  me,  she  may  take  away,  but  she  sliall  not  tear  it 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


109 


With  it  without  pain.  He  that  would  perfectly  know  him- 
self, let  him  set  aside  his  money,  his  fortune,  his  dignity, 
and  examine  himself  naked,  without  being  put  to  learn  from 
others  tlie  knowledge  of  himself. 

It  is  dangerous  for  a man  too  suddenly,  or  too  easily,  to 
believe  himself.  Wherefore  let  us  examine, 
watch,  observe,  and  inspect  our  own  hearts;  examine  him- 
for  we  ourselves  are  our  own  greatest  flatter- 
ers;  we  should  every  night  call  ourselves  to  account, 
“What  infirmity  have  I mastered  to-day?  what  passion 
opposed?  what  temptation  resisted?  what  virtue  acquired?” 
Our  vices  will  abate  of  themselves,  if  they  be  brought 
every  day  to  the  shrift.  Oh  the  blessed  sleep  that  follows 
such  a diary!  Oh  the  tranquillity,  liberty,  and  greatness  of 
that  mind  that  is  a spy  upon  itself,  and  a private  censor  of 
its  own  manners  I It  is  my  custom  (says  our  author)  every 
night,  so  soon  as  the  candle  is  out,  to  run  over  all  the  words 
and  actions  of  the  past  day ; and  I let  nothing  escape  me ; 
for  why  should  I fear  the  sight  of  my  own  errors,  when  I 
can  admonish  and  forgive  myself?  “I  was  a little  too  hot 
in  such  a dispute:  my  opinion  might  have  been  as  well 
spared,  for  it  gave  offence,  and  did  no  good  at  all.  The 
thing  was  true,  but  all  truths  are  not  to  be  spoken  at  all 
times ; I would  I had  held  my  tongue,  for  there  is  no  con- 
tending either  with  fools  or  our  superiors.  I have  done  ill. 
but  it  shall  be  so  no  more.”  If  every  man  would  but  thus 
look  into  himself,  it  would  be  the  better  for  us  all.  What 
can  be  more  reasonable  than  this  daily  review  of  a life  that 
we  cannot  vs  arrant  for  a moment?  Our  fate  is  set,  and  the 
first  breath  we  draw  is  only  the  first  motion  toward  our 
last:  one  cause  depends  upon  another;  and  the  course  of 
all  things,  public  and  private,  is  but  a long  connexion  of 
providential  appointments.  There  is  a great  variety  in  our 
lives,  but  all  tends  to  the  same  issue.  Nature  may  use  her 
own  bodies  as  she  pleases ; but  a good  man  has  this  conso- 
lation, that  nothing  perishes  which  he  can  call  his  own.  It 
is  a great  comfort  that  we  are  only  condemned  to  the  same 
fate  with  the  universe ; the  heavens  themselves  are  mortal 
as  well  as  our  bodies;  Nature  nas  made  us  passive,  and  to 
suffer  is  our  lot.  While  we  are  in  flesh,  every  man  has  his 
chain  and  his  clog,  only  it  is  looser  and  lighter  to  one  man 
than  to  another ; and  he  is  more  at  ease  that  takes  it  up 
and  carries  it,  than  he  that  drags  it.  We  are  born,  to  lose 
and  to  perish,  to  hope  and  to  fear,  to  vex  ourselves  am! 
K 


no 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


otliers ; and  there  is  no  antidote  against  a common  calamity 
but  virtue ; for  “ the  foundation  of  true  joy  is  in  the  con- 
science.” 


CHAP.  VII.  • 

A good  man  can  never  be  miserable,  nor  a wicked  man 
happy. 

There  is  not  in  the  scale  of  nature  a more  inseparable 
connexion  of  cause  and  effect,  than  in  the  case  of  happiness 
and  virtue:  nor  any  thing  that  more  naturally  produces  the 
one,  or  more  necessarily  presupposes  the  othijr.  For  what 
is  it  to  be  happy,  but  for  a man  to  content  himself  with  his 
lot,  in  a cheerful  and  quiet  resignation  to  the  appointments 
of  God  1 All  the  actions  of  our  lives  ought  to  be  governed 
with  respect  to  good  and  evil ; and  it  is  only  reason  that 
distinguishes ; by  which  reason  we  are  in  such  manner  in- 
fluenced, as  if  a ray  of  the  Divinity  were  dipt  in  a mortal 
body,  and  that  is  the  perfection  of  mankind.  It  is  true,  we 
nave  not  the  eyes  of  eagles  or  the  sagacity  of  hounds : nor 
if  we  had,  could  we  pretend  to  value  ourselves  upon  any 
thing  which  we  have  in  common  with  brutes.  What  are 
we  the  better  for  that  which  is  foreign  to  us,  and  may  be 
given  and  taken  away  1 As  the  beams  of  the  sun  irradiate 
the  earth,  and  yet  remain  where  they  were ; so  is  it  in  some 
proportion  with  a holy  mind  that  illustrates  all  our  actions, 
and  yet  it  adheres  to  its  original.  Why  do  we  not  as  well 
commend  a horse  for  his  glorious  trappings,  as  a man  for  his 
pompous  additions]  How  much  a braver  creature  is  a lion, 
(which  by  nature  ought  to  be  fierce  and  terrible)  how  much 
braver  (I  say)  in  his  natural  horror  than  in  his  chains]  so 
that  every  thing  in  its  pure  nature  pleases  us  best.  It  is  not 
health,  nobility,  riches,  that  can  justify  a wicked  man  : nor 
is  it  the  want  of  all  these  that  can  discredit  a good  one. 
That  is  the  sovereign  blessing,  which  makes  the  possessor 
of  it  valuable  without  any  thing  else,  and  him  that  wants 
It  contemptible,  though  he  had  all  the  world  besidea  It  is 
not  the  painting,  gilding,  or  carving,  that  makes  a good 
ship;  but  if  she  be  a nimble  sailer,  tight  and  strong  to  en- 
dure the  seas ; that  is  her  excellency.  It  is  the  edge  and 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


Ill 


temper  of  the  blade  that  makes  a good  sword,  not  the  rich 
ness  of  the  scabbard  : and  so  it  is  not  money  or  possessions, 
that  makes  a man  considerable,  but  his  virtue. 

It  is  every  man’s  duty  to  make  himself  profitable  to  man- 
kind : if  he  can,  to  many ; if  not,  to  fewer ; ^ 
if  not  so  neither,  to  his  neighbor;  but,  how-  makes  himself 
ever,  to  himself  There  are  two  republics ; profitable  to 
a great  one,  which  is  human  nature,  and  a 
less,  which  is  the  place  where  we  were  born : some  serve 
both  at  a time,  some  only  the  greater,  and  some  again  only 
the  less:  the  greater  maybe  served  in  privacy,  solitude, 
contemplation,  and  perchance  that  way  better  than  any 
other ; but  it  was  the  intent  of  Nature,  however,  that  we 
should  serve  both.  A good  man  may  serve  the  public,  his 
friend,  and  himself,  in  any  station : if  he  be  not  for  the 
sword,  let  him  take  the  gown;  if  the  bar  does  not  agree 
with  him,  let  him  try  the  pulpit : if  he  be  silenced  abroad, 
let  him  give  counsel  at  home,  and  discharge  the  part  of  a 
faithful  friend  and  a temperate  companion.  When  he  is  no 
longer  a citizen,  he  is  yet  a man ; but  the  whole  world  is 
his  country,  and  human  nature  never  wants  matter  to  work 
upon : but  if  nothing  will  serve  a man  in  the  civil  govern- 
ment unless  he  be  prime  minister,  or  in  the  field  but  to  com- 
mand in  chief,  it  is  his  own  fault.  The  common  soldier, 
where  he  cannot  use  his  hands,  fights  with  his  looks,  his 
example,  his  encouragement,  his  voice,  and  stands  his  ground 
even  when  he  has  lost  his  hands,  and  does  service  too  with 
his  very  clamor ; so  that,  in  any  condition  whatsoever,  he 
still  discharges  the  duty  of  a good  patriot.  Nay,  he  tliat 
spends  his  time  well,  even  in  a retirement,  gives  a great 
example.  We  may  enlarge  indeed,  or  contract,  according 
to  the  circumstances  of  time,  place,  or  abilities,  but,  above 
all  things,  we  must  be  sure  to  keep  ourselves  in  action ; for 
he  that  is  slothful  is  dead  even  while  he  lives.  Was  there 
ever  any  state  so  desperate  as  that  of  Athens  under  the  tliir*^y 
tyrants;  where  it  was  capital  to  be  honest,  and  the  senate- 
house  was  turned  into  a college  of  hangmen  1 Never  was 
any  government  so  wretched  and  so  hopeless;  and  yet 
Socrates,  at  the  same  time  preached  temperance  to  the  ty- 
•^ants,  and  courage  to  the  rest,  and  afterwards  died  an  emi- 
nent example  of  faith  and  resolution,  and  a sacrifice  for  the 
common  good. 

It  is  not  for  a wise  man  to  stand  shifting  and  fencing 


112 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


Tiie  injuries  Fortune,  but  to  oppose  her  barefaced , 

of  Foriiine  flu  for  he  is  sufficiently  convinced  that  she  can  do 
hurt.  She  may  take  away  his  servants, 
possessions,  dignity,  assault  his  body,  put  out 
his  eyes,  cut  off  his  hands,  and  strip  him  of  all  the  external 
comforts  of  life.  But  what  does  all  this  amount  to  more 
than  the  recalling  of  a trust  which  he  has  receiveo,  with 
condition  to  deliver  it  up  again  upon  demand]  He  looks 
upon  himself  as  precarious,  and  only  lent  to  himself,  and  yet 
ho  does  not  value  himself  ever  the  less,  because  he  is  not 
his  own,  but  takes  such  care  as  an  honest  man  sliould  do  of 
a thing  that  is  committed  to  him  in  trust.  Whensoever  he 
that  lent  me  myself,  and  what  I have,  shall  call  for  all  back 
again,  it  is  not  a loss,  but  a restitution  : and  I must  willingly 
deliver  up  what  most  undeservedly  was  bestowed  upon  me; 
and  it  will  become  me  to  return  my  mind  better  than  I re- 
ceived it. 

Demetrius,  upon  the  taking  of  Megara,  asked  Stilpo  the 
A Reneroiis  in-  philosopher  what  he  had  lost.  “Nothing,”  says 
stance  of  a coil- he,  “for  ] had  all  that  I could  call  my  own 

stant  mind,  ghout  me.”  And  yet  the  enemy  had  then 
made  himself  master  of  his  patrimony,  his  children,  and  his 
country:  but  these  he  looked  upon  as  only  adventitious 
goods,  and  under  the  command  of  Fortune.  Now,  he  that 
neither  lost  any  thing,  nor  feared  any  thing,  in  a public  ruin, 
but  was  safe  and  at  peace  in  the  middle  of  the  flames,  and 
in  the  heat  of  a military  intemperance  and  fury,  what  vio- 
lence or  provocation  imaginable  can  put  such  a man  as  this 
out  of  the  posse.ssion  of  himself]  Walls  and  castles  may  be 
mined  and  battered,  but  there  is  no  art  or  engine  that  can 
subvert  a steady  mind.  “I  have  made  my  way,”  says  Stilpo, 
“ through  fire  and  blood ; what  is  become  of  my  children,  I 
know  not;  but  these  are  transitory  blessings,  and  servants 
that  are  conde.mned  to  change  their  masters;  what  was  my 
own  before,  is  my  own  still : some  have  lost  their  estates, 
others  their  dear-bought  mistresses,  their  commissions  and 
offices : the  usurers  have  lost  their  bonds  and  securities;  but, 
Demetrius,  for  my  part  I have  saved  all : and  do  not  imagine, 
after  all  this,  either  that  Demetrius  is  a conqueror,  or  that 
Stilpo  is  overcome ; it  is  only  thy  fortune  has  been  too  hard 
for  mine.”  Alexander  took  Babylon,  Scipio  took  Carthage, 
the  Capitol  was  burnt;  but  there  is  no  fire  or  violence  that 
can  discompose  a generous  mind.  And  let  us  not  take  this 
character  neither  for  a chimera ; for  all  ages  afford  some. 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  EIFE. 


113 


though  not  many,  instances  of  this  elevated  virtue.  A good 
man  does  his  duty,  let  it  be  never  so  painful,  so  hazardous, 
or  never  so  great  a loss  to  him  ; and  it  is  not  all  the  money, 
the  power,  and  the  pleasure  in  the  world ; not  any  force  of 
necessity,  that  can  make  him  wicked  : he  considers  what  he 
is  to  do,  not  what  he  is  to  suffer,  and  will  keep  on  his 
course,  though  there  should  be  nothing  but  gibbets  and  tor- 
ments in  the  way.  And  in  this  instance  of  Stilpo,  who,  when 
he  had  lost  his  country,  his  wife,  his  children,  the  town  on 
fire  over  his  head,  himself  escaping  very  hardly  and  naked 
out  of  the  flames ; “ I have  saved  all  my  goods,”  says  he, 
“ my  justice,  my  courage,  my  temperance,  my  prudence 
accounting  nothing  his  own,  or  valuable,  and  showing  how 
much  easier  it  was  to  overcome  a nation  than  one  wise  man. 
It  is  a certain  mark  of  a brave  mind  not  to  be  moved  by  any 
accidents:  the  upper  region  of  the  air  admits  neither  clouds 
nor  tempests ; the  thunder,  storms,  and  meteors,  are  formed 
below ; and  this  is  the  difference  betwixt  a mean  and  an  ex- 
alted mind:  the  former  is  rude  and  tumultuary;  the  latter 
is  modest,  venerable,  composed,  and  always  quiet  in  its  sta- 
tion. In  brief,  it  is  the  conscience  that  pronounces  upon  the 
man  whether  he  be  happy  or  miserable.  But,  though  sacri- 
lege and  adultery  be  generally  condemned,  how  many  are 
there  still  that  do  not  so  much  as  blush  at  the  one,  and  in 
truth  that  take  a glory  in  the  other  1 For  nothing  is  more 
common  than  for  great  thieves  to  ride  in  triumph  when  the 
little  ones  are  punished.  But  let  “ wickedness  escape  as  it 
may  at  the  bar,  it  never  fails  of  doing  justice  upon  itself ; 
for  every  guilty  person  is  his  own  hangman.” 


CHAP.  VIII. 

The  due  contemplation  of  Divine  Providence  is  the  certam 
cure  of  all  misfortunes. 

Whoever  observes  the  world,  and  the  order  of  it,  will 
find  all  the  motions  in  it  to  be  only  vicissitudes  of  falling  and 
rising;  nothing  extinguished,  and  even  those  things  which 
seem  to  us  to  perish  are  in  truth  but  changed.  The  seasons 
go  and  return,  day  and  night  follow  in  their  courses,  the 
heavens  roll,  and  Nature  goes  on  with  her  work:  all  things 
succeed  in  their  turns,  storms  and  calms;  the  law  of  Na- 
if 2 


114 


SENECA.  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


turn  will  have  it  so,  which  we  must  follow  and  obey,  ac- 
counting all  things  that  are  done  to  be  well  done:  so  that 
what  we  cannot  mend  we  must  suffer,  and  wait  upon  Provi- 
dence without  repining.  It  is  the  part  of  a cowardly  soldier 
to  follow  his  commander  groaning;  but  a generous  man  de- 
livers himself  up  to  God  without  struggling;  and  it  is  only 
for  a narrow  mind  to  condemn  the  order  of  the  world,  and 
to  propound  rather  the  mending  of  Nature  than  of  himself. 
No  man  has  any  cause  of  complaint  against  Providence,  if 
that  which  is  right  pleases  him.  Those  glories  that  appear 
fair  to  the  eye,  their  lustre  is  but  false  and  superficial ; and 
they  are  only  vanity  and  delusion : they  are  rather  the 
goods  of  a dream  than  a substantial  possession : they  may 
cozen  us  at  a distance,  but  bring  them  once  to  the  touch, 
they  are  rotten  and  counterfeit.  There  are  no  greater 
wretches  in  the  world  than  many  of  those  which  the  people 
take  to  be  happy.  Those  are  the  only  true  and  incorrupti- 
ble comforts  that  will  abide  all  trials;  and  the  more  we  turn 
and  examine  them,  the  more  valuable  we  find  them ; and 
the  greatest  felicity  of  all  is,  not  to  stand  in  need  of  any. 
What  is  poverty  ? No  man  lives  so  poor  as  he  was  born. 
What  is  pain'!  It  will  either  have  an  end  itself,  or  make 
an  end  of  us.  In  short.  Fortune  has  no  weapon  that  reaches 
the  mind;  but  the  bounties  of  Providence  are  certain  and 
permanent  blessings;  and  they  are  the  greater  and  the  bet- 
ter, the  longer  we  consider  them ; tliat  is  to  say,  “ the 
power  of  contemning  things  terrible,  and  despising  what 
the  common  people  covet.”  In  the  very  methods  of  Nature 
we  cannot  but  observe  the  regard  that  Providence  had  to 
the  good  of  mankind,  even  in  the  disposition  of  the  world, 
in  providing  so  amply  for  our  maintenance  and  satisfaction. 
It  is  not  possible  for  us  to  comprehend  what  the  Power  is 
whicli  has  made  all  things : some  few  sparks  of  that  Divinity 
are  discovered,  but  infinitely  the  greater  part  of  it  lies  hid. 
We  are  all  of  us,  however,  thus  far  agreed,  first,  in  the  ac- 
knowledgment and  belief  of  that  almighty  Being;  and, 
secondly,  that  we  are  to  ascribe  to  it  all  majesty  and  goodness. 

“If  there  be  a Providence,”  say  some,  “how  comes  it  to 
pass  that  good  men  labor  under  affliction  and 
timroom^^iiien  !i-dversily,  and  wicked  men  enjoy  themselves 
are  afflicted  in  in  ease  and  plenty  V My  answer  is.  That  God 
'wicked''"  ^ father  does  by  his  chil- 

prosper?  dren;  he  tries  us,  he  hardens  us,  and  fits  us 
for  himself.  He  keeps  a strict  hand  over  those 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


115 


•Jiat  he  loves,  and  by  the  rest  he  does  as  we  do  by  our 
slaves ; he  lets  them  go  on  in  license  and  boldness.  As  the 
master  gives  his  most  hopeful  scholars  the  hardest  lessons, 
so  does  God  deal  with  the  most  generous  spirits;  and  the 
cross  encounters  of  fortune  we  are  not  to  look  upon  as  a cru- 
elty, but  as  a contest : the  familiarity  of  dangers  brings  us 
to  the  contempt  of  them,  and  that  part  is  strongest  which  is 
most  exercised : the  seaman’s  hand  is  callous,  the  soldier’s 
arm  is  strong,  and  the  tree  that  is  most  exposed  to  the  wind 
takes  the  best  root : there  are  people  that  live  in  a perpetual 
winter,  in  extremity  of  frost  and  penury,  where  a cave,  a 
lock  of  straw,  or  a few  leaves,  is  all  their  covering,  and  wild 
oeasts  their  nourishment;  all  this  by  custom  is  not  only 
made  tolerable,  but  when  it  is  once  taken  up  upon  necessity, 
by  little  and  little,  it  becomes  pleasant  to  them.  Why  should 
we  then  count  that  condition  of  life  a calamity  which  is  the 
lot  of  many  nations!  There  is  no  state  of  life  so  miserable 
but  there  are  in  it  remissions,  diversions,  nay,  and  delights 
too;  such  is  the  benignity  of  Nature  towards  us,  even  in 
the  severest  accidents  of  human  life.  There  were  no  living 
if  adversity  should  hold  on  as  it  begins,  and  keep  up  the  force 
of  the  first  impression.  We  are  apt  to  murmur  at  many 
things  as  great  evils,  that  have  nothing  at  all  of  evil  in  them 
beside  the  complaint,  which  we  should  more  reasonably  take 
up  against  ourselves.  If  I be  sick,  it  is  part  of  my  fate ; and 
for  other  calamities,  they  are  usual  things ; they  ought  to 
be;  nay,  which  is  more,  they  must  be,  for  they  come  by 
divine  appointment.  So  that  we  should  not  only  submit  to 
God,  but  assent  to  him,  and  obey  him  out  of  duty,  even  if 
there  were  no  necessity.  All  those  terrible  appearances 
that  make  us  groan  and  tremble  are  but  the  tribute  of  life ; 
we  are  neither  to  wish,  nor  to  ask,  nor  to  hope  to  escape 
them  ; for  it  is  a kind  of  dishonesty  to  pay  a tribute  unwill- 
ingly. Am  I troubled  with  the  stone,  or  afflicted  with  con- 
tinual losses'!  nay,  is  my  body  in  danger!  All  this  is  no 
more  than  what  I prayed  for  when  1 prayed  for  old  age. 
All  these  things  are  as  familiar  in  a long  life,  as  dust  and 
dirt  in  a long  way.  Life  is  a warfare ; and  what  brave  man 
would  not  rather  choose  to  be  in  a tent  than  in  shambles ! 
Fortune  does  like  a swordsman,  she  scorns  to  encounter  a 
fearful  man  : there  is  no  honor  in  the  victory  where  there  is 
no  danger  in  the  way  to  it ; she  tries  Mucius  by  fire  ; Ru- 
tiliuo  by  exile  ; Socrates  by  poison ; Cate  by  death.  t is 


116 


SENECA  OF  A HaPPY  LIFE. 


only  in  adverse  fortune,  and  in  bad  times,  that  we  find 
great  examples.  Mucins  thought  himself  happier  with  his 
hand  in  the  flame,  than  if  it  had  been  in  the  bosom  of  his 
mistress.  Fabricius  took  more  pleasure  in  eating  the  roots 
of  liis  own  planting  than  in  all  the  delicacies  of  luxury  and 
expense.  Shall  we  call  Rutilius  miserable,  whom  his  very 
enemies  have  adored  1 who,  upon  a glorious  and  a public 
principle,  chose  rather  to  lose  his  country  than  to  return 
from  banishment  ? the  only  man  that  denied  any  thing  to 
Sylla  the  dictator,  who  recalled  him.  Nor  did  he  only 
refuse  to  come,  but  drew  himself  further  off":  “ Let  them,” 
says  he,  “ that  think  banishment  a misfortune,  live  slaves 
at  Rome,  under  the  imperial  cruelties  of  Sylla : he  that  sets 
a price  upon  the  heads  of  senators;  and  after  a law  of  his 
own  institution  against  cut-throats,  becomes  the  greatest 
himself.”  Is  it  not  better  for  a man  to  live  in  exile  abroad 
than  to  be  massacred  at  home  1 In  suffering  for  virtue,  it  is 
not  the  torment  but  the  cause,  that  we  are  to  consider ; and 
the  more  pain,  the  more  renown.  When  any  hardship  befalls 
us,  we  must  look  upon  it  as  an  act  of  Providence,  which 
many  times  suffers  particulars  to  be  wounded  for  the  con- 
servation of  the  whole:  beside  that,  God  chastises  some 
people  under  an  appearance  of  blessing  them,  turning 
their  prosperity  to  their  ruin  as  a punishment  for  abusing 
his  goodness.  And  we  are  further  to  consider,  that  many  a 
good  man  is  afflicted,  only  to  teach  others  to  suffer ; for  we 
are  born  for  example ; and  likewise  that  where  men  are 
contumacious  and  refractory,  it  pleases  God  many  times  to 
cure  greater  evils  by  less,  and  to  turn  our  miseries  to  our 
advantage. 

How  many  casualties  and  difficulties  are  there  that  we 
Providence  dread  as  insupportable  mischiefs,  which,  upon 
draws  good  farther  thoughts,  we  find  to  be  mercies  and 
out  of  evil,  benefits?-  as  banishment,  poverty,  loss  of 
relations,  sickness,  disgrace.  Some  are  cured  by  the  lance; 
oy  fire,  hunger,  thirst;  taking  out  of  bones,  lopping  off 
imbs,  and  the  like:  nor  do  we  only  fear  things  that  are 
many  times  beneficial  to  us;  but,  on  the  Other  side,  we 
hanker  after  and  pursue  things  that  are  deadly  and  perni- 
cious : we  are  poisoned  in  the  very  pleasures  of  our  luxury, 
and  betrayed  to  a thousand  diseases  by  the  indulging  of  our 
palate.  To  lose  a child  or  a limb,  is  only  to  part  with  what 
we  have  received,  and  Nature  may  do  what  she  pleases 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


117 


with  her  own.  We  are  frail  ourselves,  and  we  have  received 
thing’s  transitory : that  which  was  given  us  may  be  taken 
away ; calamity  tries  virtue  as  the  fire  does  gold : nay, 
he  that  lives  most  at  ease,  is  only  delayed,  not  dismissed, 
and  his  portion  is  to  come.  When  we  are  visited  with 
sickness  or  other  afflictions,  we  are  not  to  murmur  as  if  we 
were  ill  used : it  is  a mark  of  the  general’s  esteem,  when 
he  puts  us  uDon  a post  of  danger : we  do  not  say,  IVJy  captain 
uses  me  ill ; but.  He  does  me  honor ; and  so  should  we  say 
that  are  commanded  to  encounter  difficulties,  for  this  is  our 
case  with  God  Almighty. 

What  was  Regulus  the  worse,  because  Fortune  made 
choice  of  him  for  an  eminent  instance  both  of  calamity  is  the 
faith  and  patience  1 He  was  thrown  into  a case  «f  virtue; 
of  wood  stuck  with  pointed  nails,  so  that  which  way  soever 
he  turned  his  body,  it  rested  upon  his  wounds ; his  eyelids 
were  cut  off  to  keep  him  waking ; and  yet  Mecsenas  was 
not  happier  upon  his  bed  than  Regulus  upon  his  torments. 
Nay,  the  world  is  not  yet  grown  so  wicked  as  not  to  prefer 
Regulus  before  Mecsenas : and  can  any  man  take  that  to  be 
an  evil  of  which  Providence  accounted  this  brave  man 
worthy  1 “ It  has  pleased  God,”  says  he,  “ to  single  me  out 
for  an  experiment  of  the  force  of  human  nature.”  No  man 
knows  his  own  strength  or  value  but  by  being  put  to  the 
proof.  The  pilot  is  tried  in  a storm ; the  soldier  in  a battle ; 
the  rich  man  knows  not  how  to  behave  himself  in  poverty : 
he  that  has  lived  in  popularity  and  applause,  knows  not 
how  he  would  bear  infamy  and  reproach : nor  he  that  never 
had  children  how  he  would  bear  the  loss  of  them.  Calamity 
is  the  occasion  of  virtue,  and  a spur  to  a great  mind.  The 
very  apprehension  of  a wound  startles  a man  when  he  first 
bears  arms;  but  an  old  soldier  bleeds  boldly,  because  he 
knows  that  a man  may  lose  blood,  and  yet  win  the  day. 
Nay,  many  times  a calamity  turns  to  our  advantage ; and 
great  ruins  have  but  made  way  to  greater  glories.  The 
crying  out  of  fire  has  many  times  (juieted  a fray,  and  the 
interposing  of  a wild  beast  has  parted  the  thief  and  the 
traveller ; for  we  are  not  at  leisure  for  less  mischiefs  while 
we  are  under  the  apprehensions  of  greater.  One  man’s 
life  is  saved  by  a disease : another  is  arrested,  and  taken 
out  of  the  way,  just  when  his  house  was  falling  upon  his 
head. 

To  show  now  that  the  favors  or  the  crosses  of  fortune, 


118 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


Accidents  are  accidents  of  sickness  and  of  health, 

neither  pood  are  neither  good  nor  evil,  God  permits  them 
nor  evil.  indifferently  both  to  good  and  evil  men.  “ It 
is  hard,”  you  will  say,  “for  a virtuous  man  to  suffer  all 
sorts  of  misery,  and  for  a wicked  man  not  only  to  go  free, 
but  to  enjoy  himself  at  pleasure.”  And  is  it  not  the  same 
thing  for  men  of  prostituted  impudence  and  wickedness 
to  sleep  in  a whole  skin,  when  men  of  honor  and  honesty 
bear  arms,  lie  in  the  trenches,  and  receive  wounds]  or 
for  the  vestal  virgins  to  rise  in  the  night  to  their  prayers, 
when  common  strumpets  lie  stretching  themselves  in  their 
beds]  We  should  rather  say  with  Demetrius,  “ If  I had 
known  the  will  of  Heaven  before  I was  called  to  it,  I 
would  have  offered  myself.”  If  it  be  the  pleasure  of  God 
to  take  my  children,  I have  brought  them  up  to  that  end  : 
if  my  fortune,  any  part  of  my  body,  or  my  life,  I wotild 
“ather  present  it  than  yield  it  up  ; 1 am  ready  to  part  w’ith 
11,  and  to  suffer  all ; for  I know  that  nothing  comes  to 
pass  but  what  God  appoints;  our  faie  is  decreed,  and  things 
do  not  so  much  happen,  as  in  their  due  time  proceed, 
and  every  man’s  portion  of  joy  and  sorrow  is  predeter- 
mined. 

There  is  nothing  falls  amiss  to  a good  man  that  can  be 
jiijng  that  up™  Providence ; for  wicked  actions, 

is  properly  evil  lewd  thoughts,  ambitious  projects,  blind  lusts, 
can  befall  a and  insatiable  avarice,  against  all  these  he  is 
good  man.  ^rmed  by  the  benefit  of  reason : and  do  we 
expect  now  that  God  should  look  to  our  luggage  too] 
I mean  our  bodies  ;)  Demetrius  discharged  himself  of  his 
reasure,  as  the  clog  and  burden  of  his  mind.  Shall  we 
wonder  then,  if  God  suffers  that  to  befall  a good  man,  which 
a good  man  sometimes  does  to  himself]  I lose  a son,  and 
why  not]  when  it  may  sometime  so  fall  out  that  I myself 
-may  kill  him.  Suppose  he  be  banished  by  an  order  of 
state ; is  it  not  the  same  thing  with  a man’s  voluntarily 
*eaving  of  his  country,  and  never  to  return  ] Many  afflic- 
tions may  befall  a good  man,  but  no  evil ; for  contraries 
will  never  incorporate:  all  the  rivers  in  the  world  are 
never  able  to  change  the  taste  or  quality  of  the  sea.  Pru- 
dence and  religion  are  above  accidents,  and  draw  good  out 
of  every  thing;  affliction  keeps  a man  in  use,  and  makes 
Sim  strong,  patient,  and  hardy.  Providence  treals  us 
,'ike  a generous  father,  and  brings  us  up  to  labors,  toils, 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


119 


and  dangers;  whereas  the  indulgence  of  a fond  mother 
makes  us  weak  and  spiritless.  God  loves  us  with  a mascu- 
line love,  and  turns  us  loose  to  injuries  and  indignities : he 
takes  delight  to  see  a brave  and  a good  man  wrestling  with 
evil  fortune,  and  yet  keeping  himself  upon  his  legs,  when 
the  whole  world  is  in  disorder  about  him.  And  are  not  we 
ourselves  delighted,  to  see  a bold  fellow  press  with  his 
lance  upon  a boar  or  lion  1 and  the  constancy  and  resolu- 
tion of  the  action  is  the  grace  and  dignity  of  the  spectacle. 
No  man  can  be  happy  that  does  not  stand  firm  against  all 
contingencies;  and  say  to  himself  in  all  extremities,  “!♦ 
should  have  been  content,  if  it  might  have  been  so  or  so, 
but  since  it  is  otherwise  determined,  God  will  provide 
better.”  The  more  we  struggle  with  our  necessities,  we 
draw  the  knot  the  harder,  and  the  worse  it  is  with  us: 
and  the  more  the  bird  flaps  and  flutters  in  the  snare,  the 
surer  she  is  caught : so  that  the  best  way  is  to  submit  and 
lie  still,  under  this  double  consideration,  that  “ the  proceed- 
ings of  God  are  unquestionable,  and  his  decrees  are  not  to 
be  resisted.” 


CHAP.  IX. 

0/  levity  of  mind,  and  other  impediments  of  a happy  life. 

Now,  to  sum  up  what  is  already  delivered,  we  have 
showed  what  happiness  is,  and  wherein  it  consists;  that 
it  is  founded  upon  wisdom  and  virtue ; for  we  must  first 
know  what  we  ought  to  do,  and  then  live  according  to  that 
knowledge.  We  have  also  discoursed  the  helps  of  philosophy 
and  precept  towards  a happy  life ; the  blessing  of  a good 
conscience ; that  a good  man  can  never  be  miserable,  nor 
a wicked  man  happy;  nor  any  man  unfortunate  that  cheer- 
fully submits  to  Providence.  We  shall  now  examine,  how 
it  comes  to  pass  that,  when  the  certain  way  to  happine.sa 
lies  so  fair  before  us,  men  will  yet  steer  their  course  on 
the  other  side,  which  as  manifestly  leads  to  ruin. 

There  are  sonje  that  live  without  any  design  at  all.  and 


120 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


, only  pass  m the  world  like  straws  upon  a 

of  happiness,  river;  they  do  not  go,  but  they  are  carried. 

Others  only  deliberate  upon  the  parts  of  life, 
and  not  upon  the  whole,  which  is  a great  error : for  there 
is  no  disposing  of  the  circumstances  of  it,  unless  we  first 
propound  the  main  scope.  How  shall  any  man  take  his  aim 
without  a mark  1 or  what  wind  will  serve  him  that  is  not 
yet  resolved  upon  his  port?  We  live  as  it  were  by  chance, 
and  by  chance  we  are  governed.  Some  there  are  that  tor- 
ment themselves  afresh  with  tlie  memory  of  what  is  past : 
“Lord!  what  did  I endure?  never  was  any  man  in  my 
condition ; every  body  gave  me  over ; my  very  heart  was 
ready  to  break,”  &,c.  Others,  again,  afflict  themselves 
with  the  apprehension  of  evils  to  come;  and  very  ridicu- 
'ously  both : for  the  one  does  not  now  concern  us,  and  the 
other  not  yet : beside  that,  there  may  be  remedies  for  mis- 
chiefs likely  to  happen  ; for  they  give  us  warning  by  signs 
and  symptoms  of  their  approach.  Let  him  that  would  be 
quiet  take  heed  not  to  provoke  men  that  are  in  power,  but 
live  without  giving  offence;  and  if  we  cannot  make  all 
great  men  our  friends,  it  will  suffice  to  keep  them  from 
being  our  enemies.  This  is  a thing  we  must  avoid,  as  a 
mariner  would  do  a storm.  A rash  seaman  never  considers 
what  wind  blows,  or  what  course  he  steers,  but  runs  at  a 
venture,  as  if  he  would  brave  the  rocks  and  the  eddies; 
whereas  he  that  is  careful  and  considerate,  informs  himself 
beforehand  where  the  danger  lies,  and  what  weather  it  is 
like  to  be:  he  consults  his  compass,  and  keeps  aloof  from 
tliose  places  that  are  infamous  for  wrecks  and  miscarriages ; 
so  does  a wise  man  in  the  common  business  of  life ; he 
keeps  out  of  the  way  from  those  that  may  do  him  hurt;  but 
it  is  a point  of  prudence  not  to  let  them  take  notice  that  he 
does  it  on  purpose;  for  that  whicli  a man  shuns  he  tacitly 
condemns.  Let  him  have  a care  also  of  listeners,  neios- 
mongers,  and  meddlers  in  other  people’s  matters ; for  their 
discourse  is  commonly  of  such  things  as  are  never  profita- 
ble, and  most  commonly  dangerous  either  to  be  spoken  or 
neard. 

Levity  of  mind  is  a great  hindrance  of  repose,  and  the 
Levity  of  mind  change  of  wickedness  is  an  addition  to 
is  a great  bin-  the  wickedness  itself;  for  it  is  inconstancy 
dranceofour  added  to  iniquity:  we  relinquish  the  thing 
repose.  sought,  and  then  we  take  it  up  again; 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


121 


and  so  divide  our  lives  between  our  lust  and  our  repentances. 
From  one  appetite  we  pass  to  another,  not  so  much  upon 
choice  as  for  chang^e ; and  there  is  a check  of  conscience 
that  casts  a damp  upon  all  our  unlawful  pleasures,  which 
makes  us  lose  the  day  in  expectation  of  the  night,  and  the 
night  itself  for  fear  of  the  approaching  light. 

Some  people  are  never  at  quiet,  others  are  always  so, 
and  they  are  both  to  blame : for  that  which  looks  like  viva- 
city and  industry  in  the  one  is  only  a restlessness  and  agi- 
tation ; and  that  which  passes  in  the  other  for  moderation 
and  reserve  is  but  a drowsy  and  unactive  sloth.  Let  motion 
and  rest  both  take  their  turns,  according  to  the  order  of 
Nature,  which  makes  both  the  day  and  tlie  night.  Some  are 
perpetually  shifting  from  one  thing  to  another;  otiiers, 
again,  make  their  whole  life  but  a kind  of  uneasy  sleep 
some  lie  tossing  and  turning  until  very  weariness  brings 
them  to  rest ; others,  again,  I cannot  so  properly  call  incon- 
stant as  lazy.  There  are  many  proprieties  and  diversities 
of  vice;  but  it  is  one  never-failing  effect  of  it  to  live  dis- 
pleased. We  do  all  of  us  labor  under  inordinate  desires; 
we  are  either  timorous,  and  dare  not  venture,  or  venturing 
we  do  not  succeed ; or  else  we  cast  ourselves  upon  uncer- 
tain hopes,  where  we  are  perpetually  solicitous,  and  in  sus- 
pense. In  this  distraction  we  are  apt  to  propose  to  ourselves 
things  dishonest  and  hard ; and  when  we  have  taken  great 
pains  to  no  purpose,  we  come  then  to  repent  of  our  under- 
takings : we  are  afraid  to  go  on,  and  we  can  neither  master 
our  appetites  nor  obey  them : we  live  and  die  restless  and 
irresolute ; and,  which  is  worst  of  all,  when  we  grow  weary 
of  the  public,  and  betake  ourselves  to  solitude  for  relief, 
our  minds  are  sick  and  wallowing,  and  the  very  house  and 
walls  are  troublesome  to  us;  we  grow  impatient  and 
ashamed  of  ourselves,  and  suppress  our  inward  vexation 
until  it  breaks  our  heart  for  want  of  vent.  This  is  it  that 
makes  us  sour  and  morose,  envious  of  others,  and  dissatis- 
fi<;d  with  ourselves ; until  at  last,  betwixt  our  troubles  for 
other  people’s  successes  and  the  despair  of  our  own,  we  fall 
foul  upon  Fortune  and  the  times,  and  get  into  a corner  per- 
haps, where  we  sit  brooding  over  our  own  disquiets.  In 
these  dispositions  there  is  a kind  of  puriginous  fancy,  that 
makes  some  people  take  delight  in  labor  and  uneasiness, 
like  the  clawing  of  an  itch  until  the  blood  starts. 


122 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


This  is  it  that  puts  us  upon  rambling’  voyages;  one  while 
Change  of  place  disgusted  with  the  present: 

does  no  good  the  town  pleases  us  to-day,  the  country  to- 
morrow : the  splendors  of  the  court  at  one 
“ """  ■ time,  the  horrors  of  a wilderness  at  another, 
but  all  this  while  we  carry  our  plague  about  us;  for  it  is 
not  tlie  place  we  are  weary  of,  but  ourselves.  Nay,  our 
weakness  extends  to  every  thing ; for  we  are  impatient 
equally  of  toil  and  of  pleasure.  This  trotting  of  the  ring, 
and  only  treading  the  same  steps  over  and  over  again,  has 
made  many  a man  lay  violent  hands  upon  himself.  It  must 
be  the  change  of  the  mind,  not  of  the  climate,  that  will  re- 
move the  heaviness  of  the  heart ; our  vices  go  along  with 
us,  and  we  carry  in  ourselves  the  causes  of  our  disquiets. 
There  is  a great  weight  lies  upon  us,  and  the  bare  shocking 
of  it  makes  it  the  more  uneasy ; changing  of  countries,  in 
this  case,  is  not  travelling,  but  wandering.  We  must  keep 
on  our  course,  if  we  would  gain  our  journey’s  end.  “ He 
that  cannot  live  happily  anywhere,  will  live  happily  no- 
where.” What  is  a man  the  better  for  travelling!  as  if  his 
cares  could  not  find  him  out  wherever  he  goes'!  Is  there 
any  retiring  from  the  fear  of  death,  or  of  torments'!  or  from 
those  difficulties  which  beset  a man  wherever  he  is'!  It  is 
only  philosophy  that  makes  the  mind  invincible,  and  places 
us  out  of  the  reach  of  fortune,  so  that  all  her  arrows  fall 
short  of  us.  This  it  is  that  reclaims  the  rage  of  our  lusts, 
and  sweetens  the  atixiety  of  our  fears.  Frequent  changing 
of  places  or  councils,  shows  an  instability  of  mind  ; and 
we  must  fix  the  body  before  we  can  fix  the  soul.  We  can 
hardly  stir  abroad,  or  look  about  us,  without  encountering 
something  or  other  that  revives  our  appetites.  As  he  that 
would  cast  off  an  unhappy  love  avoids  whatsoever  may  put 
him  m mind  of  the  person,  so  he  that  would  wholly  deliver 
himself  from  his  beloved  lusts  must  shun  all  objects  that 
may  put  them  in  his  head  again,  and  remind  him  of  them 
We  travel,  as  children  run  up  and  down  after  strange  sights, 
for  novelty,  not  profit ; we  return  neither  the  better  nor  the 
sounder;  nay,  and  the  very  agitation  hurts  us.  We  learn 
to  call  towns  and  places  by  their  names,  and  to  tell  stories 
of  mountains  and  of  rivers;  but  had  notour  time  been  bet- 
ter spent  in  the  study  of  wisdom  and  of  virtue”!  in  the 
learning  of  what  is  already  discovered,  and  in  the  quest  of 


SENECA.  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


123 


things  not  yet  found  out  I If  a man  break  his  leg,  or  strain 
his  ancle,  he  sends  presently  for  a surgeon  to  set  all  right 
again,  and  does  not  take  horse  upon  it,  or  put  himself  on 
ship-board ; no  more  does  the  change  of  place  work  upon 
our  disordered  minds  than  upon  our  bodies.  It  is  not  the 
place,  I hope,  that  makes  either  an  orator  or  a physician. 
Will  any  man  ask  upon  the  road,  Pray,  which  is  the  way 
to  prudence,  to  justice,  to  temperance,  to  fortitude  1 No 
matter  whither  any  man  gpes  that  carries  his  affections  along 
with  him.  He  that  would  make  his  travels  delightful  must 
make  himself  a temperate  companion.  A great  traveller 
was  complaining  that  he  was  never  the  better  for  his  trav- 
els; “That  is  very  true,”  said  Socrates,  “because  you 
travelled  with  yourself.”  Now,  had  not  he  better  have 
made  himself  another  man  than  to  transport  himself  to 
another  place  1 It  is  no  matter  what  manners  we  find  any- 
where, so  long  as  we  carry  our  own.  But  we  have  all  of 
us  a natural  curiosity  of  seeing  fine  sights,  and  of  making 
new  discoveries,  turning  over  antiquities,  learning  the  cus- 
toms of  nations,  &c.  We  are  never  quiet;  to-day  we  seek 
an  office,  to-morrow  we  are  sick  of  it.  We  divide  our  lives 
betwixt  a dislike  of  the  present  and  a desire  of  the  future: 
but  he  that  lives  as  he  should,  orders  himself  so,  as  neither 
to  fear  nor  to  wish  for  to-morrow : if  it  comes,  it  is  wel- 
come; but  if  not,  there  is  nothing  lost;  for  that  which  is 
come,  is  but  the  same  over  again  with  what  is  past.  As 
levity  is  a pernicious  enemy  to  quiets  so  pertinacity  is  a 
great  one  too.  The  one  changes  nothing,  the  other  sticks 
to  nothing;  and  which  of  the  two  is  the  worse,  may  be  a 
question.  It  is  many  times  seen,  that  we  beg  earnestly  for 
those  things,  which,  if  they  were  offered  us,  we  would  re- 
fuse ; and  it  is  but  just  to  punish  this  easiness  of  asking 
with  an  equal  facility  of  granting.  There  are  some  things 
we  would  be  thought  to  desire,  which  we  are  so  far  from 
desiring  that  we  dread  them.  “ I shall  tire  you,”  says  one, 
in  the  middle  of  a tedious  story.  “Nay,  pray  be  pleased  to 
go  on,”  we  cry,  though  we  wish  his  tongue  out  at  half-way: 
nay,  we  do  not  deal  candidly  even  with  God  himself.  We 
should  say  to  ourselves  in  these  cases,  “This  I have  drawn 
upon  myself.  I could  never  be  quiet  until  I had  gotten  this 
woman,  this  place,  this  estate,  this  honor,  and  now  see  what 
is  come  of  it.” 

One  sovereign  remedy  against  all  misfortunes  is  constancy 


124 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


Constancy  of  ni'id  ■ the  changing  of  parties  and  connte» 
mind  secures  nances  looks  as  if  a man  were  driven  with  the 
wind.  Nothing  can  be  above  him  that  is  above 
cu  ICS.  fortune.  It  is  not  violence,  reproach,  contempt, 
or  whatever  else  from  without,  that  can  make  a wise  man 
quit  his  ground : but  he  is  proof  against  calamities,  both 
great  and  small : only  our  error  is,  that  what  we  cannot  do 
ourselves,  we  think  nobody  else  can ; so  that  we  judge  of 
the  wise  by  the  measures  of  the  weak.  Place  me  among 
princes  or  among  beggars,  the  one  shall  not  make  me  proud, 
nor  the  other  ashamed.  I can  take  as  sound  a sleep  in  a barn 
as  in  a palace,  and  a bundle  of  hay  makes  me  as  good  a lodg- 
ing as  a bed  of  down.  Should  every  day  succeed  to  my  wish, 
it  should  not  transport  me;  nor  would  I tliink  myself  mise- 
rable if  I should  not  have  one  quiet  hour  in  my  life.  I will 
not  transport  myself  with  either  pain  or  pleasure;  but  yet 
for  all  that,  I could  wish  that  I had  an  easier  game  to  play, 
and  that  I were  put  rather  to  moderate  my  joys  than  my 
sorrows.  If  1 were  an  imperial  prince,  1 had  rather  take 
than  be  taken ; and  yet  I would  bear  the  same  mind  under 
the  chariot  of  my  conqueror  that  I had  in  my  own.  It  is  no 
great  matter  to  trample  upon  those  things  that  are  most 
coveted  or  feared  by  the  common  people.  There  are  those 
that  will  laugh  upon  the  wheel,  and  cast  themselves  upon  a 
certain  death,  only  upon  a transport  of  love,  perhaps  anger, 
avarice,  or  revenge ; how  much  more  then  upon  an  instinct 
of  virtue,  which  is  invincible  and  steady ! If  a short  obsti- 
acy  of  mind  can  do  this,  how  much  more  shall  a composed 
nd  deliberate  virtue,  whose  force  is  equal  and  perpetual ! 
To  secure  ourselves  in  this  world,  first,  we  must  aim  at 
The  less  we  ^^at  men  count  worth  the  wrangling 

have  to  do  with  for.  Secondly,  we  must  not  value  the  pos- 
the  world,  the  session  of  any  thing  which  even  a common 
better.  thief  would  think  worth  the  stealing.  A nan’s 
body  is  no  booty.  Let  the  way  be  never  so  dangerous  for 
robberies,  the  poor  and  the  naked  pass  quietly.  A plain-deal- 
ing sincerity  of  manners  makes  a man’s  life  happy,  even  in 
despite  of  scorn  and  contempt,  which  is  every  clear  man’s 
fate.  But  we  had  better  yet  be  contemned  for  simplicity 
than  lie  perpetually  upon  the  torture  of  a counterfeit;  pro-' 
vided  that  care  be  taken  not  to  confound  simplicity  with  neg- 
ligence : and  it  is,  moreover,  an  uneasy  life  that  of  a dis- 
guise; for  a man  to  seem  to  be  what  he  is  not,  to  keep  a 
perpetual  guard  upon  himself,  and  to  live  in  fear  of  a dis- 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


125 


covery.  He  takes  every  man  that  looks  upon  him  for  a spy, 
over  and  above  the  trouble  of  being  put  to  play  another  man’s 
part.  It  is  a good  remedy  in  some  cases  for  a man  to  apply 
himself  to  civil  affairs  and  public  business;  and  yet,  in  this 
state  of  life  too,  what  betwixt  ambition  and  calumny,  it  is 
hardly  safe  to  be  honest.  There  are,  indeed,  some  cases 
wherein  a wise  man  will  give  way;  but  let  him  not  yield 
over  easily  neither : if  he  marches  off,  let  him  have  a care 
of  his  honor,  and  make  his  retreat  with  his  sword  in  his  hand, 
and  his  face  to  the  enemy.  Of  all  others,  a studious  life  is 
the  least  tiresome ; it  makes  us  easy  to  ourselves  and  to 
others,  and  gains  us  both  friends  and  reputation. 


CHAP.  X. 

He  that  sets  up  his  rest  upon  contingencies  shall  never  be 
quiet. 

Never  pronounce  any  man  happy  that  depends  upon  for- 
une  for  his  happiness ; for  nothing  can  be  more  preposterous 
than  to  place  the  good  of  a reasonable  creature  in  unreason- 
able things.  If  I have  lost  any  thing,  it  was  adventitious ; 
and  the  less  money,  the  less  trouble;  the  less  favor,  the  less 
envy;  nay,  even  in  those  cases  that  put  us  out  of  their  wits, 
it  is  not  the  loss  itself,  but  the  opinion  of  the  loss,  that  trou- 
bles us.  It  is  a common  mistake  to  account  those  things 
necessary  that  are  superfluous,  and  to  depend  upon  fortune 
for  the  felicity  of  life,  which  arises  only  from  virtue.  There 
is  no  trusting  to  her  smiles ; the  sea  swells  and  rages  in  a 
moment,  and  the  ships  are  swallowed  at  night,  in  the  very 
place  where  they  sported  themselves  in  the  morning.  Ano 
fortune  has  the  same  power  over  princes  that  it  has  ovei 
empires,  over  nations  that  it  has  over  cities,  and  the  sama 
power  over  cities  that  it  has  over  private  men.  Where  is  that 
estate  that  may  not  be  followed  upon  the  heel  with  famine 
and  beggary  1 that  dignity  which  the  next  moment  may  not 
be  laid  in  the  dust  1 that  kingdom  that  is  secure  from  deso- 
lation and  ruin  1 The  period  of  all  things  is  at  hand,  as  well 
that  which  casts  out  the  fortunate  as  the  other  that  delivers 
.he  unhappy ; and  that  which  may  fall  out  at  any  time  may 
fall  out  this  very  day.  What  shall  come  to  pass  I know  not, 
L2 


126 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


but  what  may  come  to  pass  I know : so  that  I will  despair 
ot’ nothing,  but  expect  every  thing;  and  whatsoever  Piovi- 
dence  remits  is  clear  gain.  Every  moment,  if  it  spares  me, 
deceives  me ; and  yet  in  some  sort  it  does  not  deceive  me ; 
for  though  I know  that  any  thing  may  happen,  yet  I know 
likewise  that  every  thing  will  not.  I will  hope  the  best, 
and  provide  for  the  worst.  Methinks  we  should  not  find 
so  much  fault  witli  Fortune  for  her  inconstancy,  when  we 
ourselves  suffer  a change  every  moment  that  we  live ; only 
other  changes  make  more  noise,  and  this  steals  upon  us  like 
the  shadow  upon  a dial,  every  jot  as  certainly,  but  more  in- 
sensibly. 

The  burning  of  Lyons  may  serve  to  show  us  that  we  are 
never  safe,  and  to  arm  us  against  all  surprises, 
til"  uncenauuy  T terror  of  it  must  needs  be  great,  for  the 
of  iiiiniaii  af-  calamity  is  almost  witliout  example.  If  it  had 

fairs  in  the  {jgen  fired  by  an  enemy,  the  flame  would  have 
Lyons.  left  some  further  mischief  to  have  been  done 
by  the  soldiers ; but  to  be  wholly  consumed, 
we  have  not  heard  of  many  earthquakes  so  pernicious : so 
many  rarities  to  be  destroyed  in  one  night ; and  in  the  depth 
of  peace  to  suffer  an  outrage  beyond  the  extremity  of  war; 
who  would  believe  itl  but  twelve  hours  betwixt  so  fair  a 
city  and  none  at  all ! It  was  laid  in  ashes  in  less  time  than 
t would  require  to  tell  the  story.  To  stand  unshaken  in 
uch  a calamity  is  hardly  to  be  expected,  and  our  wonder 
cannot  but  be  equal  to  our  grief.  Let  this  accident  teach 
us  to  provide  against  all  possibilities  that  fall  within  the 
power  of  fortune.  All  external  things  are  under  her  do- 
minion: one  while  she  calls  our  hands  to  her  assistance; 
another  while  she  contents  herself  with  her  own  force,  and 
destroys  us  with  mischiefs  of  which  we  cannot  find  the  au- 
thor. No  time,  place,  or  condition,  is  excepted;  she  makes 
our  very  pleasures  painful  to  us ; she  makes  war  upon  us 
in  the  depth  of  peace,  and  turns  the  means  of  our  security 
into  an  occasion  of  fear;  she  turns  a friend  into  an  enemy, 
and  makes  a foe  of  a companion;  we  suffer  the  effects  of 
war  without  any  adversary ; and  rather  than  fail,  our  felicity 
shall  be  the  cause  of  our  destruction.  Lest  we  should  either 
forget  or  neglect  her  power,  every  day  produces  something 
extraordinary.  She  persecutes  the  most  temperate  with 
sickness,  the  strongest  constitutions  with  the  phthisic;  she 
brings  the  innocent  to  punishment,  and  the  most  retired  she 
assaults  with  tumults.  Those  glories  that  have  grown  up 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


127 


With  many  ages,  with  infinite  labor  and  expense,  and  under 
the  favor  of  many  auspicious  providences,  one  day  scatters 
and  brings  to  nothing.  He  that  pronounced  a day,  nay,  an 
hour,  sufficient  for  the  destruction  of  the  greatest  empire, 
might  have  fallen  to  a moment.  It  were  some  comfort  yet 
to  the  frailly  of  mankind  and  of  human  affairs,  if  things 
might  but  decay  as  slowly  as  they  rise ; but  they  grow  by 
degrees,  and  they  fall  to  ruin  in  an  instant.  There  is  no 
felicity  in  any  thing  either  private  or  public ; men,  nations, 
and  cities,  have  p.ll  their  fates  and  periods ; our  very  enter- 
tainments are  not  without  terror,  and  our  calamity  rises 
there  where  we  least  expect  it.  Those  kingdoms  that  stood 
the  shock  both  of  foreign  wars  and  civil,  come  to  destruc- 
tion without  the  sight  of  an  enemy.  Nay,  we  are  to  dread 
our  peace  and  felicity  more  than  violence,  because  we  are 
here  taken  unprovided ; unless  in  a state  of  peace  we  do  the 
duty  of  men  in  war,  and  say  to  ourselves.  Whatsoever  may 
he,  will  be.  I am  to-day  safe  and  happy  in  the  love  of  my 
country ; I am  to-morrow  banished ; to-day  in  pleasure, 
peace,  health ; to-morrow  broken  upon  a wheel,  led  in  tri- 
umph, and  in  the  agony  of  sickness.  Let  us  therefore  pre- 
pare for  a shipwreck  in  the  port,  and  for  a tempest  in  a calm. 
One  violence  drives  me  from  my  country,  another  ravishes 
that  from  me ; and  that  very  place  where  a man  can  hardly 
pass  this  day  for  a crowd  may  be  to-morrow  a desert. — 
Wherefore  let  us  set  before  our  eyes  the  whole  condition 
of  human  nature,  and  consider  as  well  what  may  happen  as 
what  commonly  does.  The  way  to  make  future  calamities 
easy  to  us  in  the  sufferance,  is  to  make  them  familiar  to  us 
in  the  contemplation.  How  many  cities  in  Asia,  Achaia, 
Assyria,  Macedonia,  have  been  swallowed  up  by  earth- 
quakes 1 nay,  whole  countries  are  lost,  and  large  provinces 
laid  under  water;  but  time  brings  all  things  to  an  end ; for 
all  the  works  of  mortals  are  mortal ; all  possessions  and  their 
possessors  are  uncertain  and  perishable ; and  what  wonder 
is  it  to  lose  any  thing  at  any  time,  when  we  must  one  day 
-ose  all  1 

That  which  we  call  our  own  is  but  lent  us ; and  what  we 
have  received  gratis  we  must  return  without  xhat  which  wp 
complaint.  That  which  Foilune  gives  us  this  can  our  own  is 
hour  she  may  take  away  the  next ; and  he 
that  trusts  to  her  favors,  shall  either  find  himself  deceiv- 
ed, or  if  he  be  not,  he  will  at  least  be  troubled,  because 


128 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


he  may  be  so.  There  is  no  defence  in  walls,  fortifica- 
tions, and  engines,  against  the  power  of  fortune;  we 
must  provide  ourselves  within,  and  when  we  are  safe  there, 
we  are  invincible ; we  may  be  battered,  but  not  taken. 
She  throws  her  gifts  among  us,  and  we  sweat  and  scuffle 
for  them : never  considering  how  few  are  the  better  for 
that  which  is  expected  by  all.  Some  are  transported 
with  what  they  get ; others  tormented  for  what  they  miss ; 
and  many  times  there  is  a leg  or  an  arm  broken  in  a con- 
test for  a counter.  She  gives  us  honors,  riches,  favors,  only 
to  take  them  away  again,  either  by  violence  or  treachery : 
so  that  they  frequently  turn  to  the  damage  of  the  receiver. 
She  throws  out  baits  for  us,  and  sets  traps  as  we  do  for  birds 
and  beasts;  her  bounties  are  snares  and  lime-twigs  to  us; 
we  think  that  we  take,  but  we  are  taken.  If  they  had  any 
thing  in  them  that  was  substantial,  they  would  some  time 
or  other  fill  and  quiet  us ; but  they  serve  only  to  provoke 
our  appetite  without  any  thing  more  than  pomp  and  shbw  to 
allay  it.  But  the  best  of  it  is,  if  a man  cannot  mend  his 
fortune,  he  may  yet  mend  his  manners,  and  put  himself  so 
far  out  of  her  reach,  that  whether  she  gives  or  takes,  it  shall 
be  all  one  to  us;  for  we  are  neither  the  greater  for  the  one, 
nor  the  less  for  the  other.  We  call  this  a dark  room,  or 
that  a light  one  ; when  it  is  in  itself  neither  the  one  nor  the 
other,  but  only  as  the  day  and  the  night  render  it.  And  so 
t is  in  riches,  strength  of  body,  beauty,  honor,  command: 
iid  likewise  in  pain,  sickness,  banishment,  death:  which 
are  in  themselves  middle  and  indifferent  things,  and  only 
good  or  had  as  they  are  influenced  by  virtue.  To  weep,  la- 
ment, and  groan,  is  to  renounce  our  duty ; and  it  is  the  same 
weakness  on  the  other  side  to  exult  and  rejoice.  I would 
rather  make  my  fortune  than  expect  it ; being  neither  de- 
pressed with  her  injuries,  nor  dazzled  with  her  favors. 
When  Zeno  was  told,  that  all  his  goods  were  drowned; 
“ W hy  then,”  says  he,  “ P'ortune  has  a mind  to  make  me  a 
philosopher.”  It  is  a great  matter  for  a man  to  advance  his 
mind  above  her  threats  or  flatteries ; for  he  that  has  once 
gotten  the  better  of  her  is  safe  for  ever. 

It  is  some  comfort  yet  to  the  unfortunate,  that  great  men 
Fortune  spares  under  the  lash  for  company ; and  that  death 
iieitiier  great  spares  the  palace  no  more  than  the  cottage , 
nor  small,  whoever  is  above  me  has  a power 

also  above  him.  Do  we  not  daily  see  funerals  without 


SENKCA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFF 


129 


trouble,  princes  deposed,  countries  ae^wpulated,  towns 
sacked ; without  so  much  as  thinking  how  soon  it  may  be 
our  own  case  1 whereas,  if  we  would  but  prepare  and  arm 
ourselves  against  the  iniquities  of  fortune,  we  should  never 
be  surprised.  When  we  see  any  man  banislied,  beggared, 
tortured,  we  are  to  account,  that  though  the  mischief  fell 
upon  another,  it  was  levelled  at  us.  What  wonder  is  it  if, 
of  so  many  thousands  of  dangers  that  are  constantly  hover- 
ing about  us,  one  comes  to  hit  us  at  lastl  That  which  be- 
falls any  man,  may  befall  every  man ; and  then  it  breaks 
the  force  of  a present  calamity  to  provide  against  the  future. 
Whatsoever  our  lot  is,  we  must  bear  it:  as  suppose  it  be 
contumely,  cruelty,  fire,  sword,  pains,  diseases,  or  a prey  to 
wild  beasts ; there  is  no  struggling,  nor  any  remedy  but 
moderation.  It  is  to  no  purpose  to  bewail  any  part  of  our 
life,  when  life  itself  is  miserable  throughout;  and  the 
whole  flux  of  it  only  a course  of  transition  from  one  mis- 
fortune to  another.  A man  may  as  well  wonder  that  he 
should  be  cold  in  winter,  sick  at  sea,  or  have  his  bones  clat- 
tered together  in  a wagon,  as  at  the  encounter  of  ill  acci- 
dents and  crosses  in  the  passage  of  human  life;  and  it  is  in 
vain  to  run  away  from  fortune,  as  if  there  were  any  hiding- 
place  wherein  she  could  not  find  us;  or  to  expect  any  quiet 
from  her ; for  she  makes  life  a perpetual  state  of  war,  with- 
out so  much  as  any  respite  or  truce.  This  we  may  conclude 
upon,  that  her  empire  is  but  imaginary,  and  that  whosoever 
serves  her,  makes  himself  a voluntary  slave  ; for  “ the  things 
that  are  often  contemned  by  the  inconsiderate,  and  always 
by  the  wise,  are  in  themselves  neither  good  nor  evil as 
pleasure  and  pains;  prosperity  and  adversity;  which  can 
only  operate  upon  our  outward  condition,  without  any 
proper  and  necessary  effect  upon  the  mind. 


CHAP.  XI. 

A sensual  life  is  a miserable  life. 

The  sensuality  that  we  here  treat  of  falls  naturally  under 
the  head  of  luxury;  which  extends  to  all  the  excesse»  af 
gluttony,  lust,  effeminacy  of  manners;  and,  in  short,  fa 
whatsoever  concerns  the  over-great  care  of  the  carcass. 


130 


SE^'ECV  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


To  begin  now  with  the  pleasures  of  the  palate,  (which 
The  excesses  of "'**^*’  Egyptian  thieves,  that  stran- 

iiixury  are  gle  those  they  embrace,)  what  shall  we  say 
painful  and  of  the  luxury  of  Nomentanus  and  Apicius, 
angeious.  entertained  their  very  souls  in  the 

kitchen : they  have  the  choicest  music  for  their  ears ; the 
most  diverting  spectacles  for  their  eyes;  the  choicest  variety 
of  meats  and  drinks  for  their  palates.  What  is  all  this,  I say, 
but  a merry  madness?  It  is  true,  they  have  their  delights, 
but  not  without  heavy  and  anxious  thoughts,  even  in 
their  very  enjoyments;  beside  that,  they  are  followed  with 
repentance,  and  theirfrolics  are  little  more  than  the  laughter 
of  so  many  people  out  of  their  wits.  Their  felicities  are  full 
of  disquiet,  and  neither  sincere  nor  well  grounded : but  they 
have  need  of  one  pleasure  to  support  another ; and  of  new 
prayers  to  forgive  the  errors  of  their  former.  Their  life  must 
needs  be  wretched  that  get  with  great  pains  what  they  keep 
with  greater.  One  diversion  overtakes  another;  hope  excites 
hope;  ambition  begets  ambition  ; so  that  they  only  change 
the  matter  of  their  miseries,  without  seeking  any  end  of  them ; 
and  shall  never  be  without  either  prosperousor  unhappy  causes 
of  disquiet.  What  if  a body  might  have  all  the  pleasures  in 
the  world  for  the  asking!  who  would  so  much  unman  him- 
self, as  by  accepting  of  them,  to  desert  his  soul,  and  become 
a perpetual  slave  to  his  senses!  Those  false  and  miserable 
palates,  that  judge  of  meats  by  the  price  and  difficulty,  not  by 
the  healthfulness  of  taste,  they  vomit  that  they  may  eat,  and 
they  eat  that  they  may  fetch  it  up  again.  They  cross  the 
seas  for  rarities,  and  when  they  have  swallowed  them,  they 
will  not  so  much  as  give  them  time  to  digest.  Wheresoever 
Nature  has  placed  men,  she  has  provided  them  aliment:  but 
we  rather  choose  to  irritate  hunger  by  expense  than  to  allay 
it  at  an  easier  rate.  What  is  it  that  wo  plow  the  seas  for ; or 
arm  ourselves  against  men  and  beasts!  To  what  end  do  we 
toil,  and  labor,  and  pile  bags  upon  bags!  We  may  enlarge 
our  fortunes,  but  we  cannot  our  bodies;  so  that  it  does  but 
spill  and  run  over,  whatsoever  we  take  more  than  we  can 
hold.  Our  forefathers  (by  the  force  of  whose  virtues  we  are 
now  supported  in  our  vices)  lived  every  jot  as  well  as  we, 
when  they  provided  and  dressed  their  own  meat  with  their 
^wn  hands;  lodged  upon  the  ground,  and  were  not  as  yet 
come  to  the  vanity  of  gold  and  gems;  when  they  swore  by 
their  earthen  gods,  and  kept  their  oath,  though  they  died 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


181 


for  it.  Did  not  our  consuls  live  more  happily  when  they 
cooked  their  own  meat  with  those  victorious  hands  that  had 
conquered  so  many  enemies  and  won  so  many  laurels  1 Did 
they  not  live  more  happily,  I say,  than  our  Apicius  (that 
corrupter  of  youth,  and  plague  of  the  age  he  lived  in)  who. 
after  he  had  spent  a prodigious  fortune  upon  his  belly, 
poisoned  himself  for  fear  of  starving,  when  he  had  yet 
250,000  crowns  in  his  coffers  1 which  may  serve  to  show 
us,  that  it  is  the  mind,  and  not  the  sum,  that  makes  any 
man  rich;  when  Apicius  with  all  his  treasure  counted  him- 
self in  a state  of  beggary,  and  took  poison  to  avoid  that 
condition,  which  another  would  have  prayed  for.  But  why 
do  we  call  it  poison,  which  was  the  wholesomest  draught 
of  his  life!  His  daily  gluttony  was  poison  rather,  both  to 
himself  and  others.  His  ostentation  of  it  was  intolerable; 
and  so  was  the  infinite  pains  he  took  to  mislead  others  by 
his  example,  who  went  even  fast  enough  of  themselves 
without  driving. 

It  is  a shame  for  a man  to  place  his  felicity  in  those  en- 
tertainments and  appetites  that  are  stronger 
in  brutes.  Do  not  beasts  eat  with  a better  were  happiness, 
stomach  1 Have  they  not  more  satisfaction  in  heasts  were 
their  lusts'!  And  they  have  not  only  a quicker 
relish  of  their  pleasures,  but  they  enjoy  them 
without  either  scandal  or  remorse.  If  sensuality  were  hap- 
piness, beasts  were  happier  than  men ; but  human  felicity 
is  lodged  in  the  soul,  not  in  the  flesh.  They  that  deliver 
themselves  up  to  luxury  are  still  either  tormented  with  too 
little,  or  oppressed  with  too  much ; and  equally  miserable, 
by  being  either  deserted  or  overwhelmed:  they  aie  like 
men  in  a dangerous  sea  ; one  while  cast  a-dry  upon  a rock, 
and  another  while  swallowed  up  in  a whirlpool ; and  all  this 
from  the  mistake  of  not  distinguishing  good  from  evil.  The 
huntsman,  that  with  much  labor  and  hazard  takes  a wild 
beast,  runs  as  great  a risk  afterwards  in  the  keeping  of 
him;  for  many  times  he  tears  out  the  throat  of  his  master; 
and  it  is  the  same  thing  with  inordinate  pleasures:  the  more 
in  number,  and  the  greater  they  are,  the  more  general  and 
absolute  a slave  is  the  servant  of  them.  Let  the  common 
people  pronounce  him  as  happy  as  they  please,  he  pays  his 
liberty  for  his  delights,  and  sells  himself  for  what  he  buy.s. 

Let  any  man  take  a view  of  our  kitchens,  the  number  of 


132 


SENECA.  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


We  have  as  cooks,  and  the  variety  of  our  meats ; vvil-. 
many  diseases  he  not  wonder  to  see  so  much  provision  made 
as  dishes.  for  one  belly?  We  have  as  many  diseases  as 
we  have  cooks  or  meats ; and  the  service  of  the  appetite  is 
the  study  now  in  vogue.  To  say  nothing  of  our  trains  of 
lackeys,  and  our  troops  of  caterers  and  sewers ; Good 
God ! that  ever  one  belly  should  employ  so  many  people  ! 
How  nauseous  and  fulsome  are  the  surfeits  that  follow  these 
excesses  ? Simple  meats  are  out  of  fashion,  and  all  are  col- 
lected into  one ; so  that  the  cook  does  the  office  of  the  stom- 
ach ; nay,  and  of  the  teeth  too ; for  the  meat  looks  as  if  it 
were  chewed  beforehand:  here  is  the  luxury  ef  all  tastes 
in  one  dish,  and  liker  a vomit  than  a soup.  From  these 
compounded  dishes  arise  compounded  diseases,  which  re- 
quire compounded  medicines.  It  is  the  same  thing  with 
our  minds  that  it  is  with  our  tables;  simple  vices  are  cura- 
ble by  simple  counsels,  but  a general  dissolution  of  manners 
is  hardly  overcome ; we  are  overrun  with  a public  as  well 
as  with  a private  madness.  The  physicians  of  old  understood 
little  more  than  the  virtue  of  some  herbs  to  stop  blood,  or 
heal  a wound ; and  their  firm  and  healthful  bodies  needed 
little  more  before  they  were  corrupted  by  luxury  and  plea- 
sure; and  when  it  came  to  that  once,  their  business  was 
not  to  allay  hunger,  but  to  provoke  it  by  a thousand  inven- 
tions and  sauces.  That  which  was  aliment  to  a craving 
stomach  is  become  a burden  to  a full  one.  From  hence 
came  paleness,  trembling,  and  worse  effects  from  crudities 
than  famine ; a weakness  in  the  joints,  the  belly  stretched, 
suffusion  of  choler,  the  torpor  of  the  nerves,  and  a palpita- 
tion  of  the  heart.  To  say  nothing  of  megrims,  torments  of 
the  eyes  and  ears,  head-ache,  gout,  scurvy,  several  sorts  of 
fevers  and  putrid  ulcers,  with  other  diseases  that  are  but 
the  punishment  of  luxury.  So  long  as  our  bodies  were 
hardened  with  labor,  or  tired  with  exercise  or  hunting,  our 
food  was  plain  and  simple ; many  dishes  have  made  many 
diseases. 

It  is  an  ill  thing  for  a man  not  to  know  the  measure  of 
Drunkenness  stomach,  nor  to  consider  that  men  do  many 
IS  a voluntary  things  in  their  drink  that  they  are  ashamed 
madness.  go^er;  drunkenness  being  nothing  else  but 
a voluntary  madness.  It  emboldens  men  to  do  all  sorts  of 
mischiefs ; it  both  irritates  wickedness  and  discovers  it ; it 
does  not  make  men  vicious,  but  it  shows  them  to  be  so.  It 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


133 


was  in  a drunken  fit  that  Alexander  killed  Clytus.  It  makes 
him  that  is  insolent  prouder,  him  that  is  cruel  fiercer ; it  takes 
away  all  shame.  He  that  is  peevish  breaks  out  presently 
into  ill  words  and  blows.  The  lecher,  without  any  regard 
to  decency  or  scandal,  turns  up  his  whore  in  the  market- 
place. A man’s  tongue  trips,  his  head  runs  round,  he  stag- 
gers in  his  pace.  To  say  nothing  of  the  crudities  and  dis- 
eases that  follow  upon  this  distemper,  consider  the  public 
mischiefs  it  has  done.  How  many  warlike  nations  and 
strong  cities,  that  have  stood  invincible  to  attacks  and 
sieges,  has  drunkenness  overcome ! Is  it  not  a great  honor 
to  drink  the  company  dead  1 a magnificent  virtue  to  swal- 
low more  wine  than  the  rest,  and  yet  at  last  to  be  outdone 
by  a hogshead  1 What  shall  we  say  of  those  men  that  invert 
the  offices  of  day  and  night  1 as  if  our  eyes  were  only  given 
us  to  make  use  of  in  the  dark  1 Is  it  day  1 “ It  is  time  to  go 
to  bed.”  Is  it  night!  “It  is  time  to  rise.”  Is  it  toward 
morning!  “Let  us  go  to  supper.”  When  other  people  lie 
down  they  rise,  and  lie  till  the  next  night  to  digest  the  de- 
bauch of  the  day  before.  It  is  an  argument  of  clownery,  to 
do  as  other  people  do.  Luxury  steals  upon  us  by  degrees ; 
first,  it  shows  itself  in  a more  than  ordinary  care  of  our 
bodies,  it  slips  next  into  the  furniture  of  our  houses;  and  it 
gets  then  into  the  fabric,  curiosity,  and  expense  of  the  house 
itself  It  appears,  lastly,  in  the  fantastical  excesses  of  our 
tables.  We  change  and  shuffle  our  meats,  confound  our 
sauces,  serve  that  in  first  that  used  to  be  the  last,  and  value 
our  dishes,  not  for  the  taste,  but  for  the  rarity.  Nay,  we 
are  so  delicate,  that  vve  must  be  told  when  we  are  to  eat  or 
drink;  wlien  we  are  hungry  or  weary;  and  we  cherish 
some  vices  as  proofs  and  arguments  of  our  happiness.  The 
most  miserable  mortals  are  they  that  deliver  themselves  up  to 
their  palates,  or  to  their  lusts : the  pleasure  is  short  and  turns 
presently  nauseous,  and  the  end  of  it  is  either  shame  or  re- 
pentance. It  is  a brutal  entertainment,  and  unworthy  of  a 
man,  to  place  his  felicity  in  the  service  of  his  senses.  As 
to  the  wrathful,  the  contentious,  the  ambitious,  though  the 
distemper  be  great,  the  offence  has  yet  something  in  it  that 
is  manly:  but  the  basest  of  prostitutes  are  those  that  dedi 
cate  themselves  wholly  to  lust;  what  with  their  hopes  and 
fears,  anxiety  of  thought,  and  perpetual  disquiets,  they  are 
aever  well,  full  nor  fasting. 

What  a deal  of  business  is  now  made  about  our  houses 
M 


134 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


The  fully  and  a^^id  diet,  which  was  at  first  both  obvious  and 
vanity  of  of  little  expense  1 Luxury  led  the  way,  and 
luxury.  employed  our  wits  in  the  aid  of  our 

vices.  First  we  desired  superfluities,  our  next  step  was  to 
wickedness,  and,  in  conclusion,  we  delivered  up  our  minds 
to  our  bodies,  and  so  became  slaves  to  our  appetites,  which 
before  were  our  servants,  and  are  now  become  our  masters. 
What  was  it  that  brouj>ht  us  to  the  extravagance  of  em- 
broideries, perfumes,  tire-women,  &c.  We  passed  the 
bounds  of  Nature,  and  launched  out  into  superfluities ; inso- 
much, that  it  is  now-a-days  only  for  beggars  and  clowns  to 
content  themselves  with  what  is  sufficient;  our  luxury  makes 
ns  insolent  and  mad.  We  take  upon  us  like  princes,  and 
fly  out  for  every  trifle,  as  if  there  were  life  and  death  in  the 
rase.  What  a madness  is  it  for  a man  to  lay  out  an  estate 
upon  a table  or  a cabinet,  a patrimony  upon  a pair  of  pen- 
dants, and  to  inflame  the  price  of  curiosities  according  to 
the  hazard  either  of  breaking  or  losing  of  theml  To  wear 
garments  that  will  neither  defend  a woman’s  body,  nor  her 
modesty;  so  thin  that  one  would  make  a conscience  of 
swearing  she  were  naked  : for  she  hardly  shows  more  in  the 
privacies  of  her  amour  than  in  public?  How  long  shall  we 
covet  and  oppress,  enlarge  our  possessions,  and  account  that 
too  little  for  one  man  which  was  formerly  enough  for  a na- 
tion 1 And  our  luxury  is  as  insatiable  as  our  avarice.  Where 
is  that  lake,  that  sea,  that  forest,  that  spot  of  land,  that  is 
not  ransacked  to  gratify  our  palate  ? The  very  earth  is  bur- 
dened with  our  buildings;  not  a river,  not  a mountain, 
escapes  us.  Oh,  that  there  should  be  such  boundless’desires 
in  our  little  bodies!  Would  not  fewer  lodgings  serve  us? 
We  lie  but  in  one,  and  where  we  are  not,  that  is  not  prop- 
erly ours.  What  with  our  hooks,  snares,  nets,  dogs,  &c. 
we  are  at  war  with  all  living  creatures;  and  nothing  comes 
amiss  but  that  which  is  either  too  cheap,  or  too  common;  and 
all  this  is  to  gratify  a fantastical  palate.  Our  avarice,  our 
ambition,  our  lusts,  are  insatiable;  we  enlarge  our  posses- 
sions, swell  our  families,  we  rifle  sea  and  land  for  matter  of 
ornament  and  luxury.  A bull  contents  himself  with  one 
meadow,  and  one  forest  is  enough  for  a thousand  elephants; 
but  the  little  body  of  a man  devours  more  than  all  other  living 
creatures.  We  do  not  eat  to  satisfy  hunger,  but  ambition; 
we  are  dead  while  we  are  alive,  and  our  houses  are  so  much 
our  tombs,  that  a man  might  write  our  epitaphs  upon  our 
very  doors 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE.  135 

A voluptuous  person,  in  fine,  can  neither  be  a good  man, 
d good  patriot^  nor  a good  friend ; for  he  is  ^ voiuptuDus 
transported  with  his  appetites,  without  con-  person  cannot 
sidering,  that  the  lot  of  man  is  the  law  of  Na-  ® man. 
ture.  A good  man  (like  a good  soldier)  will  stand  his  ground, 
receive  wounds,  glory  in  his  scars,  and  in  death  itself  love 
his  master  for  whom  he  falls ; with  that  divine  precept  al- 
ways in  his  mind,  “ Follow  good  whereas  he  that  com- 
plains, laments,  and  groans,  must  yield  nevertheless,  and 
do  his  duty  though  in  spite  of  his  heart.  Now,  what  a mad- 
ness is  it  for  a man  to  choose  rather  to  be  lugged  than  to 
follow,  and  vainly  to  contend  with  the  calamities  of  human 
life  1 Whatsoever  is  laid  upon  us  by  necessity,  we  should  re- 
ceive generously ; for  it  is  foolish  to  strive  with  what  we  can- 
not avoid.  We  are  born  subjects,  and  to  obey  God  is  perfect 
liberty.  He  that  does  this  shall  be  free,  safe,  and  quiet : all 
his  actions  shall  succeed  to  his  wish : and  what  can  any  man 
desire  more  than  to  want  nothing  from  without,  and  to  have 
all  things  desirable  within  himself?  Pleasures  do  but 
weaken  our  minds,  and  send  us  for  our  support  to  Fortune, 
who  gives  us  money  only  as  the  wages  of  slavery.  We 
must  stop  our  eyes  and  our  ears.  Ulysses  had  but  one  rock 
to  fear,  but  human  life  has  many.  Every  city,  nay,  every 
man,  is  one ; and  there  is  no  trusting  even  to  our  nearest 
friends.  Deliver  me  from  the  superstition  of  taking  those 
hings  which  are  light  and  vain  for  felicities. 


CHAP.  XII. 

Avarice  and  ambition  are  insatiable  and  restless. 

The  man  that  would  be  truly  rich  must  not  increase  his 
fortune,  but  retrench  his  appetites ; for  riches  are  not  only 
superfluous,  but  mean,  and  little  more  to  the  possessor  than 
to  the  looker-on.  What  is  the  end  of  ambition  and  avarice, 
when  at  best  we  are  but  stewards  of  what  we  falsely  call 
our  own  ? All  those  things  that  we  pursue  with  so  much 
hazard  and  expense  of  blood,  as  well  to  keep  as  to  get,  for 
which  we  break  faith  and  friendship,  what  are  they  but  the 
mere  deposita  of  Fortune?  and  not  ours,  but  already  in- 
clining toward  a new  master.  There  is  nothing  our  own 
but  that  which  we  give  to  ourselves,  and  of  which  we  have 


i36 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


a certain  and  an  inexpugnable  possession.  Avarice  is  so 
insatiable,  tliat  it  is  not  in  the  power  of  liberality  to  con- 
tent it;  and  our  desires  are  so  boundless,  that  whatever 
we  get  IS  but  in  the  way  to  getting  more  without  end : 
and  so  long  as  we  are  solicitous  for  the  increase  of  wealth, 
we  lose  the  true  use  of  it;  and  spend  our  time  in  putting 
out,  calling  in,  and  passing  our  accounts,  without  any  substan- 
tial benefit,  either  to  the  world  or  to  ourselves.  What  is 
the  difference  betwixt  old  men  and  children  1 the  one  cries 
for  nuts  and  apples,  and  the  other  for  gold  and  silver:  the 
one  sets  up  courts  of  justice,  hears  and  determines,  acquits 
and  condemns,  in  jest ; the  other  in  earnest : the  one 
makes  houses  of  clay,  the  other  of  marble:  so  that  the 
works  of  old  men  are  nothing  m the  world  but  the  progress 
and  improvement  of  children’s  errors ; and  they  are  to  be 
admonished  and  punished  too  like  children,  not  in  revenge 
for  injuries  received,  but  as  a correction  of  injuries  done,  and 
o make  them  give  over.  There  is  some  substance  yet  in 
gold  and  silver  ; but  as  to  judgments  and  statutes,  procura- 
tion and  continuance-money,  these  are  only  the  visions 
and  dreams  of  avarice.  Throw  a crust  of  bread  to  a dog, 
he  takes  it  open-mouthed,  swallows  it  whole,  and  presently 
gapes  for  more  : just  so  do  we  with  the  gifts  of  Fortune ; 
down  they  go  without  chewing,  and  we  are  immediately 
ready  for  another  chop.  But  what  has  avarice  now  to  do 
with  gold  and  silver,  that  is  .so  much  outdone  by  curiosities 
of  a fiir  greater  value ! Let  us  no  longer  complain  that 
there  was  not  a heavier  load  laid  upon  those  precious  metals, 
or  that  they  were  not  buried  deep  enough,  when  we  have 
found  out  ways  by  wax  and  parchments,  and  by  bloody 
usurious  contracts,  to  undo  one  another.  It  is  remarkable, 
that  Providence  has  given  us  all  things  for  our  advantage 
near  at  hand;  but  iron,  gold,  and  silver,  (being  both  the 
instrument  of  blood  and  slaughter,  and  the  price  of  it) 
Nature  has  hidden  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth. 

There  is  no  avarice  without  some  punishment,  over  and 

above  that  which  it  is  to  itself.  How  miserable 
Avarice  piin-  jg  jj.  jj^  (jegjre  ! how  miserable  even  in  the 

ishes  Itself.  . . „ , . tt 

attaining  of  our  ends ! For  money  is  a greater 
torment  in  the  possession  -than  it  is  in  the  pursuit.  The 
fear  of  losing  it  is  a great  trouble,  the  loss  of  it  a greater, 
and  it  is  made  a greater  yet  by  opinion.  Nay,  even  in  the 
case  of  no  direct  loss  at  all,  the  covetous  man  loses  what 
he  does  not  get.  It  is  true,  the  people  call  the  rich  man 


SENKCA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


i;n 

a happy  man,  and  wish  themselves  in  his  condition ; but 
Crtii  any  condition  be  worse  than  that  which  carries  vexa- 
tion and  envy  along  with  itl  Neither  is  any  man  to  boast  of 
his  fortune,  his  herds  of  cattle,  his  number  of  slaves,  liis 
lands  and  palaces ; for  comparing  that  which  he  has  to  tha. 
which  he  further  covets,  he  is  a beggar.  No  man  can 
possess  all  things,  but  any  man  may  contemn  them  ; and 
the  contempt  of  riches  is  the  nearest  way  to  the  gaining  of 
them. 

Some  magistrates  are  made  for  money,  and  those  com 
monly  are  bribed  with  money.  We  are  all  „ . 

turned  merchants,  and  look  not  into  the " 
quality  of  things,  but  into  the  price  of  them  ; for  reward 
we  are  pious,  and  for  reward  again  we  are  impious.  We 
are  honest  so  long  as  we  may  thrive  upon  it ; but  if  the 
devil  himself  gives  better  wages,  we  change  our  party. 
Our  parents  have  trained  us  up  into  an  admiration  of  gold 
and  silver,  and  the  love  of  it  is  grown  up  with  us  to  that 
degree  that  when  we  would  show  our  gratitude  to  Heaven, 
we  make  presents  of  those  metals.  This  is  it  that  makes 
poverty  look  like  a curse  and  a reproach  ; and  the  poets  help 
it  forward  ; the  chariot  of  the  sun  must  be  all  of  gold  ; the 
best  of  times  must  be  the  Golden  Age,  and  thus  they 
turn  the  greatest  misery  of  mankind  into  the  greatest 
blessings. 

Neither  does  avarice  make  us  only  unhappy  in  ourselves, 
but  malevolent  also  to  mankind.  The  soldier  . , 

wishes  for  war;  the  husbandman  would  have  us  ill-natured 
his  corn  dear;  the  lawyer  prays  for  dissen-  as  well  as 
sion ; the  physician  for  a sickly  year ; he  tnat  ®- 

deals  in  curiosities,  for  luxury  and  excess,  for  he  makes 
up  his  fortunes  out  of  the  corruptions  of  the  age.  High 
winds  and  public  conflagrations  make  work  for  the  car- 
penter and  bricklayer,  and  one  man  lives  by  the  loss  of 
another;  some  few,  perhaps,  have  the  fortune  to  be 
detected,  but  they  are  all  wicked  alike.  A great  plague 
makes  work  for  the  sexton ; and,  in  one  word,  whosoevei 
trains  by  the  dead  has  not  much  kindness  for  the  living. 
Demades  of  Athens  condemned  a fellow  that  sold  neces- 
saries for  funerals,  upon  proof  that  he  wished  to  make  him 
self  a fortune  by  his  trade,  which  could  not  be  but  by  a great 
mortality;  but  perhaps  he  did  not  so  much  desire  to  have 
many  customers,  as  to  sell  dear,  and  buy  cheap ; besides, 
that  all  of  that  trade  might  have  been  condemned  as  well 
M2 


138 


SENECA.  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


as  he.  Whatsoever  whets  our  appetites,  fiatthrs  and  depress- 
es the  mind,  and,  by  dilating  it,  weakens  it;  first  blowing  it 
up,  and  then  filling  and  deluding  it  with  vanity. 

To  proceed  now  from  the  most  prostitute  of  all  vices, 
The  cures  and  sensuality  and  avarice,  to  that  which  passes 
crimes  that  at-  in  the  world  for  the  most  generous,  the  thirst 
tend  ambition,  dominion.  If  they  that  run 

mad  after  wealth  and  honor,  could  but  look  into  the  hearts 
of  them  that  have  already  gained  these  points,  how  would 
it  startle  them  to  see  those  hideous  cares  and  crimes  that 
wait  upon  ambitious  greatness : all  those  acquisitions  that 
dazzle  the  eyes  of  the  vulgar  are  but  false  pleasures,  slip- 
pery and  uncertain..  They  are  achieved  with  labor,  and 
the  very  guard  of  them  is  painful.  Ambition  puffs  us  up 
with  vanity  and  wind;  and  we  are  equally  troubled  either 
to  see  any  body  before  us,  or  nobody  behind  us ; so  that  we 
lie  under  a double  envy;  for  whosoever  envies  another  is 
also  envied  himself  What  matters  it  how  far  Alexander 
extended  his  conquests,  if  he  was  not  yet  satisfied  with 
what  he  had  1 Every  man  wants  as  much  as  he  covets ; 
and  it  is  lost  labor  to  pour  into  a vessel  that  will  never  be 
full.  He  that  had  subdued  so  many  princes  and  nations, 
upon  the  killing  of  Clytus  (one  friend)  and  the  loss  of 
Hyphestion  (another)  delivered  himself  up  to  anger  and 
sadness;  and  when  he  was  master  of  the  world,  he  was 
yet  a slave  to  his  passions.  Look  into  Cyrus,  Cambyses, 
and  the  whole  Persian  line,  and  you  shall  not  find  so  much 
as  one  man  of  them  that  died  satisfied  with  what  he  had 
gotten.  Ambition  aspires  from  great  things  to  greater ; 
and  propounds  matters  even  impossible,  when  it  has  once 
arrived  at  things  beyond  expectation.  It  is  a kind  of  dropsy ; 
the  more  a man  drinks,  the  more  he  covets.  Let  any  man 
but  observe  the  tumults  and  the  crowds  that  attend  palaces; 
what  affronts  must  we  endure  to  he  admitted,  and  how 
much  greater  when  we  are  in  ! The  passage  to  virtue  is 
fair,  but  the  way  to  greatness  is  craggy,  and  it  stands  not 
only  upon  a precipice,  but  upon  ice  too;  and  yet  it  is  a hard 
matter  to  convince  a great  man  that  his  station  is  slippery, 
or  to  prevail  with  him  not  to  depend  upon  his  greatness; 
but  all  superfluities  are  hurtful.  A rank  crop  lays  the  corn ; 
too  great  a burden  of  fruit  breaks  the  bough ; and  our  minds 
may  be  as  weh  overcharged  with  an  immoderate  happiness. 
Nay,  though  we  ourselves  would  be  at  rest,  our  fortune  will 
not  suffer  it:  the  way  that  leads  to  honor  and  riches  lOads 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPT  LIFE. 


139 


U>  troubles : and  we  find  the  causes  of  our  sorrows  in  the 
very  objects  of  our  delights.  What  joy  is  there  in  feasting 
and  luxury ; in  ambition  and  a crowd  of  clients ; in  the 
arms  of  a mistress,  or  in  the  vanity  of  an  unprofitable 
knowledge  1 These  short  and  false  pleasures  deceive  us ; 
and,  like  drunkenness,  revenge  the  jolly  madness  of  one 
hour  with  the  nauseous  and  sad  repentance  of  many. 
Ambition  is  like  a gulf:  every  thing  is  swallowed  up  in  it 
and  buried,  beside  the  dangerous  consequences  of  it ; for 
that  which  one  has  taken  from  all,  may  be  easily  taken 
away  again  by  all  from  one.  It  was  not  either  virtue  or 
reason,  but  the  mad  love  of  a deceitful  greatness,  that  ani- 
mated Pompey  in  his  wars,  either  abroad  or  at  home.  What 
was  it  but  his  ambition  that  hurried  liim  to  Spain,  Africa, 
and  elsewhere,  when  he  was  too  great  already  in  every 
body’s  opinion  but  his  own  1 And  the  same  motive  had  Julius 
Caesar,  who  could  not,  even  then,  brook  a superior  himself, 
when  the  commonwealth  had  submitted  unto  two  already. 
Nor  was  it  any  instinct  of  virtue  that  pushed  on  Marius, 
who  at  the  head  of  an  army  was  himself  yet  led  on  under 
the  command  of  ambition : but  he  came  at  last  to  the 
deserved  fate  of  other  wicked  men,  and  to  drink  himself 
of  the  same  cup  that  he  had  filled  to  others.  We  impose 
upon  our  reason,  when  we  sufier  ourselves  to  be  transported 
with  titles ; for  we  know  that  they  are  nothing  but  a more 
glorious  sound  ; and  so  for  ornaments  and  gildings,  though 
there  may  be  a lustre  to  dazzle  our  eyes,  our  understanding 
tells  us  yet  that  it  is  only  outside,  and  the  matter  under  it 
is  only  coarse  and  common. 

I will  never  envy  those  that  the  people  call  great  and 
happy.  A sound  mind  is  not  to  be  shaken  . 
with  a popular  and  vain  applause ; nor  is  it  those^pcopie* 
in  the  power  of  their  pride  to  disturb  the  that  the  world 
state  of  our  happiness.  An  honest  man  is  'account  great 
known  now-a-days  by  the  dust  he  raises  upon 
the  way,  and  it  is  become  a point  of  honor  to  overrun  people, 
and  keep  all  at  a distance  ; though  he  that  is  put  out  of  the 
way  may  perchance  be  happier  than  he  that  takes  it.  He 
that  would  exercise  a power  profitable  to  himself,  and 
grievous  to  nobody  else,  let  him  practise  it  upon  his  passion. 
They  that  have  burnt  cities,  otherwise  invincible,  driven 
armies  before  them,  and  bathed  themselves  in  human  blood 
after  that  they  have  overcome*all  open  enemies,  they  have 
been  vanquished  by  their  lust,  by  their  cruelty,  and  vvithout 


140 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


nny  resistance.  Alexander  was  possessed  with  the  madness 
of  laying  kingdoms  waste.  He  began  with  Greece,  where 
he  was  brought  up ; and  there  he  quarried  himself  upon 

that  in  it  which  was  the  best;  he  enslaved  Lacedemon, 

and  silenced  Atliens  : nor  was  he  content  with  the  destruc- 
tion of  those  towns  which  his  father  Philip  had  either  con- 
quered or  bought;  but  he  made  himself  the  enemy  of 
human  nature;  and,  like  the  worst  of  beasts,  he  worried 
what  he  could  not  eat.  Felicity  is  an  unquiet  thing;  it  tor- 
ments itself,  and  puzzles  the  brain.  It  makes  some  people 
ambitious,  others  luxurious;  it  puffs  up  some,  and  softens 
others  ; only  (as  it  is  with  wine)  some  heads  bear  it  better 

than  others  ; but  it  dissolves  all.  Greatness  stands  upon  a 

precipice:  and  if  prosperity  carries  a man  never  so  little 
beyond  his  poise,  it  overbears  and  dashes  him  to  pieces.  It 
is  a rare  thing  for  a man  in  a great  fortune  to  lay  down  his 
happiness  gently  ; it  being  a common  fate  for  a man  to  sink 
under  the  weight  of  those  felicities  that  raise  him.  How 
many  of  the  nobility  did  Marius  bring  down  to  herdsmen 
and  other  mean  offices ! Nay,  in  the  very  moment  of  our 
despising  servants,  we  may  be  made  so  ourselves. 


CHAP.  VIII. 

Hope  and  fear  are  the  bane  of  human  life. 

No  man  can  be  said  to  be  perfectly  happy  that  runs  the 
isk  of  disappointment;  which  is  the  case  of  every  man 
that  /eors  or  hopes  for  any  thing.  For  hope  and  fear,  how 
distant  soever  they  may  seem  to  be  the  one  from  the  other, 
they  are  both  of  them  yet  coupled  in  the  same  chain,  as  the 
guard  and  the  prisoner ; and  the  one  treads  upon  the  heels 
of  the  other.  The  reason  of  this  is  obvious,  for  they  are 
passions  that  look  forward,  and  are  ever  solicitous  for  the 
future ; only  hope  is  the  more  plausible  weakness  of  the 
two,  which  in  truth,  upon  the  main,  are  inseparable ; for 
the  one  cannot  be  without  the  other:  but  where  the  hope 
is  stronger  than  the  fear,  or  the  fear  than  the  hope,  we 
call  it  the  one  or  the  other;  for  without  fear  it  were  no 
'onger  hope,  but  certainly;  as  without  hope  it  were  no 
'onger,/h«r  but  despair.  We  may  come  to  understand 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


Ill 


whether  our  disputes  are  vain  or  not,  if  we  do  but  consider 
that  we  are  either  troubled  about  the  present,  the  future, 
or  both.  If  the  present,  it  is  easy  to  judge,  and  the  future 
is  uncertain.  It  is  a foolish  thing  to  be  miserable  before- 
hand for  fear  of  misery  to  come ; for  a man  loses  the 
present,  which  he  might  enjoy,  in  expectation  of  the  future: 
nay,  the  fear  of  losing  any  thing  is  as  bad  as  the  loss  itself. 
I will  be  as  prudent  as  I can,  but  not  timorous  or  careless; 
and  I will  bethink  myself,  and  forecast  what  inconveniences 
may  happen  before  they  eome.  It  is  true,  a man  may 
fear,  and  yet  not  be  fearful ; which  is  no  more  than  to 
have  the  affection  of  fear  without  the  vice  of  it;  but  yet 
a frequent  admittance  of  it  runs  into  a habit.  It  is  a shame- 
ful and  an  unmanly  thing  to  be  doubtful,  timorous,  and 
uncertain  ; to  set  one  step  forward,  and  another  backward ; 
and  to  be  irresolute.  Can  there  be  any  man  so  fearful,  that 
had  not  rather  fall  once  than  hang  always  in  suspense  1 
Our  miseries  are  endless,  if  we  stand  in  fear  of  all  pos- 
sibilities; the  best  way,  in  such  a case,  is  to  our  miseries 
drive  out  one  nail  with  another,  and  a little  are  endless,  if 
to  qualify  fear  with  hope ; which  may  serve  I'-?'! 
to  palliate  a misfortune,  though  not  to  cure 
it.  There  is  not  any  thing  that  we  fear,  which  is  so 
certain  to  come,  as  it  is  certain  that  many  things  which  we 
do  fear  will  not  come  ; but  we  are  loth  to  oppose  our  credu- 
lity when  it  begins  to  move  us,  and  so  to  bring  our  fear  to 
the  test.  Well!  but  “what  if  the  thing  we  fear  should 
come  to  pass  1”  Perhaps  it  will  be  the  better  for  us.  Sup- 
pose it  be  death  itself,  why  may  it  not  prove  the  glory  of 
my  life  1 Did  not  poison  make  Socrates  famous  1 and  was 
not  Cato’s  sword  a great  part  of  his  honor  I “Do  we  fear 
any  misfortune  to  befall  us  I”  We  are  not  presently  sure 
that  it  will  happen.  How  many  deliverances  have  come 
unlooked  for  1 and  how  many  mischiefs  that  we  looked  for 
have  never  come  to  pass'!  It  is  time  enough  to  lament 
when  it  comes,  and,  in  the  interim,  to  promise  ourselves 
the  best.  What  do  I know  but  something  or  other  may 
delay  or  divert  it!  Some  have  escaped  out  of  the  fire; 
others,  - when  a house  has  fallen  over  their  head,  have 
received  no  hurt : one  man  has  been  saved  when  a sword 
was  at  his  throat;  another  has  been  condemned,  and  out 
lived  his  headsman : so  that  ill-fortune,  we  see,  as  well  as 
good,  has  her  levities ; peradventure  it  will  be,  perad- 
venture  not ; and  until  it  comes  to  pass,  we  are  not  sure  of 


142 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


it ; vve  dc  iiany  times  take  words  in  a worse  sense  than 
they  were  intended,  and  imagine  things  to  be  worse  taken 
than  they  are.  It  is  time  enough  to  bear  a misfortune  when 
it  comes,  without  anticipating  it. 

He  that  would  deliver  himself  from  all  apprehensions  of 
Pre  are  for  future,  let  him  first  take  for  granted,  that 
the  worst.  U.11  fears  will  fall  upon  him  ; and  then  examine 
and  measure  the  evil  that  he  fears,  which  he 
will  find  to  be  neither  great  nor  long.  Beside,  that  the  ills 
which  he  fears  he  may  suffer,  he  suffers  in  the  very  fear  of 
them.  As  in  the  symptoms  of  an  approaching  disease,  a 
man  shall  find  himself  lazy  and  listless:  a weariness  in  his 
limbs,  with  a yawning  and  shuddering  all  over  him  ; so  it  is 
in  the  case  of  a weak  mind,  it  fancies  misfortunes,  and  makes 
a man  wretched  before  his  time.  Why  should  I torment  my- 
self at  present  with  what,  perhaps,  may  fall  out  fifty  years 
hence  1 This  humor  is  a kind  of  voluntary  disease,  and  an 
industrious  contrivance  of  our  own  unhappiness,  to  complain 
of  an  affliction  that  we  do  not  feel.  Some  are  not  only 
moved  with  grief  itself,  but  with  the  mere  opinion  of  it;  as 
children  will  start  at  a shadow,  or  at  the  sight  of  a deformed 
person.  If  we  stand  in  fear  of  violence  from  a powerful 
enemy,  it  is  some  comfort  to  us,  that  whosoever  makes  him- 
self terrible  to  others  is  not  without  fear  himself:  the  least 
noise  makes  a lion  start ; and  the  fiercest  of  beasts,  whatso- 
ver  enrages  them,  makes  them  tremble  too : a shadow,  a 
oice,  an  unusual  odour,  rouses  them. 

The  things  most  to  be  feared  I take  to  be  of  three  kinds  ; 

want,  sickness,  and  those  violences  that  may 
The  things  most  jjg  jgr,p,)sed  upon  US  by  a strotiff  hand.  The 

to  D6  iGSTGCl  31*0  I • r J o 

want,  sickness,  last  of  these  has  the  greatest  force,  because  it 
amltlieyio-  comes  attended  with  noise  and  tumult;  where- 
''^hi'power.'^"  incommodities  of  poverty  and  diseases 

are  more  natural,  and  steal  upon  us  in  silence, 
without  any  external  circumstances  of  horror : but  the  other 
marches  in  pomp,  with  fire  and  sword,  gibbets,  racks,  hooks; 
wild  beasts  to  devour  us;  stakes  to  impale  us;  engines  to 
tear  us  to  pieces;  pitched  bags  to  burn  us  in,  and  a thousand 
other  exquisite  inventions  of  cruelty.  No  wonder  then,  if 
that  be  the  most  dreadful  to  us  that  presents  itself  in  sc 
many  uncouth  shapes;  and  by  the  very  solemnity  is  render- 
ed the  most  formidable.  The  more  instruments  of  bodily 
pain  the  executioner  shows  us,  the  more  frightful  he  makes 
ji]uself:  for  many  a man  that  would  have  encountered  death 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


143 


IP  .my  generous  form,  with  resolution  enough,  is  yet  cver- 
corae  with  the  manner  of  it.  As  for  the  calamities  of  hun- 
ger and  thirst,  inward  ulcers,  scorching  fevers,  tormenting 
fits  of  the  stone,  I look  upon  these  miseries  to  be  at  least  as 
grievous  as  any  of  the  rest ; only  they  do  not  so  much  aftect 
,he  fancy,  because  they  lie  out  of  sight.  Some  people  talk 
oigh  of  dangers  at  a distance ; but  (like  cowards)  when  the 
’xecutioner  comes  to  do  his  duty,  and  show  us  the  fire,  the 
IX,  the  scaffold,  and  death  at  hand,  their  courage  fails  them 
open  the  very  pinch,  when  they  have  most  need  of  it.  Sick- 
ness, (I  hope)  captivity,  fire,  are  no  new  things  to  us;  the 
fall  of  houses,  funerals,  and  conflagrations,  are  every  day 
before  our  eyes.  The  man  that  I supped  with  last  night  is 
dead  before  morning ; why  should  I wonder  then,  seeing  so 
many  fall  about  me,  to  be  hit  at  last  myself]  What  can  be 
greater  madness  than  to  cry  out,  “ Who  would  have  dream- 
ed of  this]”  And  why  not,  I beseech  you]  Where  is  that 
estate  that  may  not  be  reduced  to  beggary]  that  dignity 
which  may  not  be  followed  with  banishment,  disgrace,  and 
extreme  contempt]  that  kingdom  that  may  not  suddenly 
fall  to  ruin;  change  its  master,  and  be  depopulated]  that 
prince  that  may  not  pass  the  hand  of  a common  hangman  ] 
That  which  is  one  man’s  fortune  may  be  another’s ; but  tbe 
foresight  of  calamities  to  come  breaks  the  violence  of  them. 


CHAP.  XIV. 

It  is  according  to  the  true  or  false  estimate  of  things  that 
we  are  happy  or  miserable. 

How  many  things  are  there  that  the  fancy  makes  terrible 
by  night,  which  the  day  turns  into  ridiculous  ! What  is 
there  in  labor,  or  in  death,  that  a man  should  be  afraid  of] 
They  are  much  slighter  in  act  than  in  contemplation  ; and 
we  may  contemn  them,  but  we  will  not:  so  that  it  is  not 
because  they  are  hard  that  we  dread  them,  but  they  are 
hard  because  we  are  first  afraid  of  them.  Pains,  and  other 
violences  of  Fortune,  are  the  same  thing  to  us  that  goblins 
are  to  children : we  are  more  scared  with  them  than  hurt. 
We  take  up  our  opinions  upon  trust,  and  err  for  company, 
still  judging  that  to  be  best  that  has  iiiost  competitors. 


144 


SENECA.  OF  A HAPFY  LIFE. 


We  make  a false  calculation  of  matters,  because  we  advise 
with  opinion,  and  not  with  Nature;  and  this  misleads  us  to 
a higher  esteem  for  riches,  honor,  and  power,  than  they  are 
worth:  we  have  been  used  to  admire  and  recommend  them, 
and  a private  error  is  quickly  turned  into  a public.  The 
greatest  and  the  smallest  things  are  equally  hard  to  be  com 
prehended ; we  account  many  things  great,  for  want  of 
understanding  what  effectually  is  so:  and  we  reckon  other 
things  to  be  small,  which  we  find  frequently  to  be  of  the 
highest  value.  Vain  things  only  move  vain  minds.  The  ac- 
cidents that  we  so  much  boggle  at  are  not  terrible  in  them 
selves,  but  they  are  made  so  by  our  infirmities;  but  we  con- 
sult rather  what  we  hear  than  what  we  feel,  without  ex- 
amining, opposing,  or  discussing  the  things  we  fear;  so  that 
we  either  stand  still  and  tremble,  or  else  directly  run  for  it, 
as  tliose  troops  did,  that,  upon  the  raising  of  the  dust,  took 
a flock  of  sheep  for  the  enemy.  When  the  body  and  mind 
are  corrupted,  it  is  no  wonder  if  all  things  prove  intolerable; 
and  not  because  they  are  so  in  truth,  but  because  we  are 
dissolute  and  foolish : for  we  are  infatuated  to  such  a de- 
gree, that,  betwixt  the  common  madness  of  men,  and  that 
which  falls  under  the  care  of  the  physician,  there  is  but  this 
difference,  the  one  labors  of  a disease,  and  the  other  of  a 
false  opinion. 

The  Stoics  hold,  that  all  those  torments  that  commonly 
Let  every  man  ‘^raw  from  US  groans  and  ejaculations,  are  in 
make  the  best  themselves  trivial  and  contemptible.  But  these 
of  his  lot.  highflown  expressions  apart  (how  true  soever) 
let  us  discourse  the  point  at  the  rate  of  ordinary  men,  and 
not  make  ourselves  miserable  before  our  time ; for  the  things 
we  apprehend  to  be  at  hand  may  possibly  never  come  to 
pass.  Some  things  trouble  us  more  than  they  should,  other 
things  sooner ; and  some  things  again  disorder  us  that  ought 
not  to  trouble  us  at  all ; so  that  we  either  enlarge,  or  create, 
or  anticipate  our  disquiets.  For  the  first  part,  let  it  rest  as 
a matter  in  controversy;  for  that  which  I account  light, 
another  perhaps  will  judge  insupportable ! One  man  laughs 
under  the  lash,  and  another  whines  for  a fillip.  How  sad 
a calamity  is  poverty  to  one  man,  which  to  another  appears 
rather  desirable  than  inconvenient]  For  the  poor  man,  who 
has  nothing  to  lose,  has  nothing  to  fear:  and  he  that  would 
enjoy  himself  to  the  satisfaction  of  his  soul,  must  be  either 
poor  indeed,  or  at  least  look  as  if  he  were  so.  Some  people 
are  extremely  dejected  with  sickness  and  pain;  whereas 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


145 


Epicurus  blessed  his  fate  with  his  last  breath,  in  the  acutest 
torments  of  the  stone  imaginable.  And  so  tor  banishment, 
which  to  one  man  is  so  grievous,  and  yet  to  another  is 
no  more  than  a bare  change  of  place : a thing  that  we  do 
every  day  for  our  health,  pleasure,  nay,  and  upon  the  ac- 
count even  of  common  business.  How  terrible  is  death  to 
T/ne  man,  which  to  another  appears  the  greatest  providence 
in  nature,  even  toward  all  ages  and  conditions ! It  is  the 
wish  of  some,  the  relief  of  many,  and  the  end  of  all.  It  sets 
the  slave  at  liberty,  carries  tlie  banished  man  home,  and 
places  all  mortals  upon  the  same  level : insomuch,  that  life 
itself  were  punishment  without  it.  When  I see  tyrants, 
tortures,  violences,  the  prospect  of  death  is  a consolation  to 
me,  and  the  only  remedy  against  the  injuries  of  life. 

Nay,  so  great  are  our  mistakes  in  the  true  estimate  of 
things,  that  we  have  hardly  done  any  thing  that  we  have 
not  had  reason  to  wish  undone ; and  we  have  found  the 
things  we  feared  to  be  more  desirable  than  those- we  coveted. 
Our  very  prayers  have  been  more  pernicious  our  very  pray- 
than  the  curses  of  our  enemies ; and  we  must  ers  many  times 
pray  again  to  have  our  former  prayers  for-  curses, 
given.  Where  is  the  wise  man  that  wishes  to  himself  the 
wishes  of  his  mother,  nurse,  or  his  tutor;  the  worst  of  ene- 
mies, with  the  intention  of  the  best  of  friends  1 We  are 
undone  if  their  prayers  be  heard ; and  it  is  our  duty  to 
pray  that  they  may  not ; for  they  are  no  other  than  well- 
meaning  execrations.  They  take  evil  for  good,  and  one 
wish  fights  with  another:  give  me  rather  the  contempt  of 
all  those  things  whereof  they  wish  me  the  greatest  plenty. 
We  are  equally  hurt  by  some  that  pray  for  us,  and  by  others 
that  curse  us : the  one  imprints  in  us  a false  fear,  and  the 
other  does  us  mischief  by  a mistake : so  that  it  is  no  won- 
der if  mankind  be  miserable,  when  we  are  brought  up  from 
the  very  cradle  under  the  imprecations  of  our  parents.  We 
pray  for  trifles,  without  so  much  as  thinking  of  the  greatest 
blessings;  and  we  are  not  ashamed  many  times  to  ask  God 
for  that  which  we  should  blush  to  own  to  our  neighbor. 

It  is  with  us  as  with  an  innocent  that  my  father  had  in 
his  family ; she  fell  blind  on  a sudden,  and  no- 
body  could  persuade  her  she  was  blind.  “ She  and  wicked, 
could  not  endure  the  house,”  she  cried,  “ it  was  “Pf,-"''*' 
so  dark,”  and  was  still  calling  to  go  abroad.  >eveit. 
That  which  we  laughed  at  in  her  we  find  to  be  true  in 
N 


14(5  SENEcA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 

ourselves,  we  are  covetous  anti  ambitious;  but  the  world 
shall  never  bring  us  to  acknowledge  it,  and  we  impute  it 
to  the  place:  nay,  we  are  the  worse  of  the  two;  for  that 
blind  fool  called  for  a guide,  and  we  wander  about  without 
one.  It  is  a hard  matter  to  cure  those  that  will  not  believe 
they  are  sick.  We  are  ashamed  to  admit  a master,  and  we 
are  too  old  to  learn.  Vice  still  goes  before  virtue : so  that 
we  have  two  works  to  do : we  must  cast  off  the  one,  and 
learn  the  other.  By  one  evil  we  make  way  to  another,  and 
only  seek  things  to  be  avoided,  or  those  of  which  we  are 
soon  weary.  That  which  seemed  too  much  when  we 
wished  for  it,  proves  too  little  when  we  have  it;  and  it  is 
not,  as  some  imagine,  that  felicity  is  greedy,  but  it  is  little 
and  narrow,  and  cannot  satisfy  us.  That  which  we  take  to 
be  very  high  at  a distance,  we  find  to  be  but  low  when  we 
come  at  it.  And  the  business  is,  we  do  not  understand  the 
true  state  of  things : we  are  deceived  by  rumors ; when 
we  have  gained  the  thing  we  aimed  at,  we  find  it  to  be 
either  ill  or  empty ; or  perchance  less  than  we  expect,  or 
otherwise  perhaps  great,  but  not  good. 


CHAP.  XV. 

The  blessings  of  temperance  and  moderation. 

There  is  not  any  thing  that  is  necessary  to  us  but  we 
have  it  either  cheap  or  gratis:  and  this  is  the  provision 
that  our  heavenly  Father  has  made  for  us,  whose  bounty 
was  never  wanting  to  our  needs.  It  is  true  the  belly  craves 
and  calls  upon  us,  but  then  a small  matter  contents  it:  a 
little  bread  and  water  is  sufficient,  and  all  the  rest  is  but 
superfluous.  He  that  lives  according  to  reason  shall  never 
be  poor,  and  he  that  governs  his  life  by  opinion  shall  never 
be  rich:  for  nature  is  limited,  but  fancy  is  boundless.  As 
for  meat,  clothes,  and  lodging,  a little  feeds  the  body,  and 
as  little  covers  it;  so  that  if  mankind  would  only  attend 
human  nature,  without  gaping  at  superfluities,  a cook  would 
be  found  as  needless  as  a soldier  : for  we  may  have  neces- 
saries upon  very  easy  terms ; whereas  we  put  ourselves  to 
great  pains  for  excesses.  When  we  are  cold,  we  may 
cover  ourselves  with  skins  of  beasts ; and,  against  violent 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE 


147 


lieats,  we  have  natural  grottoes ; or  with  a few  osiers  and 
a little  clay  we  may  defend  ourselves  against  all  seasons. 
Providence  has  been  kinder  to  us  than  to  leave  us  to  live 
by  our  wits,  and  to  stand  in  need  of  invention  and  arts.  It 
is  only  pride  and  curiosity  that  involve  us  in  difficulties 
if  nothing  will  serve  a man  but  rich  clothes  and  furniture, 
statues  and  plate,  a numerous  train  of  servants,  and  the 
rarities  of  all  nations,  it  is  not  Fortune’s  fault,  but  his  own, 
that  he  is  not  satisfied  : for  his  desires  are  insatiable,  and 
this  is  not  a thirst,  but  a disease ; and  if  he  were  master  of 
the  whole  world,  he  would  be  still  a beggar.  It  is  the  mind 
that  makes  us  rich  and  happy,  in  what  condition  soever  we 
are ; and  money  signifies  no  more  to  it  than  it  does  to  the 
gods.  If  the  religion  be  sincere,  no  matter  for  the  orna- 
ments: it  is  only  luxury  and  avarice  that  make  poverty 
grievous  to  us ; for  it  is  a very  small  matter  that  does  our 
business;  and  when  we  have  provided  against  cold,  hunger, 
and  thirst,  all  the  rest  is  but  vanity  and  excess:  and  there 
is  no  need  of  expense  upon  foreign  delicacies,  or  the  artifi- 
ces of  the  kitchen.  What  is  he  the  worse  for  poverty  that 
despises  these  things'!  nay,  is  he  not  rather  the  better  for 
it,  because  he  is  not  able  to  go  to  the  price  of  them!  for  he 
is  kept  sound  whether  he  will  or  not : and  that  which  a man 
cannot  do,  looks  many  times  as  if  he  would  not. 

When  I look  back  into  the  moderation  of  past  ages,  it 
makes  me  ashamed  to  discourse,  as  if  poverty  niodeia- 
had  need  of  any  consolation  ; for  we  are  now  Hom  of  past 
come  to  that  degree  of  intemperance,  that  a 
fair  patrimony  is  too  liittle  for  a meal.  Homer  had  but  one 
servant,  Plato  three,  and  Zeno  (the  master  of  the  mascu- 
line sect  of  Stoics)  had  none  at  all.  The  daughters  of  Scipio 
had  their  portions  out  of  the  common  treasury,  for  their 
father  left  them  not  worth  a penny:  how  happy  were  their 
husbands  that  had  the  people  of  Rome  for  their  father-in- 
law  ! Shall  any  man  now  contemn  poverty  after  these  emi- 
nent examples,  which  are  sufficient  not  only  to  justify  but 
to  recommend  it!  Upon  Diogenes’s  only  servant  running 
away  from  him,  he  was  told  where  he  was,  and  persuaded 
to  fetch  him  back  again  : “ What,”  says  he,  “ can  Manes 
live  without  Diogenes,  and  not  Diogenes  without  Manes! 
and  so  let  him  go.”  The  piety  and  moderation  of  Scipio 
have  made  his  memory  more  venerable  than  his  arms;  and 
ir.ore  yet  after  he  left  his  country  than  while  he  defended 
it : for  matters  were  come  to  that  pass,  that  either  Scipio 


148 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


must  be  injurious  to  Rome  or  Rome  to  Scipio.  Coarse 
bread  and  water  to  a temperate  man  is  as  good  as  a feast-, 
and  the  very  herbs  of  the  field  yield  a nourishment  to  man 
as  well  as  to  beasts.  It  was  not  by  choice  meats  and  per- 
fumes that  our  forefathers  recommended  themselves,  but  in 
virtuous  actions,  and  the  sweat  of  honest,  military,  and  of 
manly  labors. 

While  Nature  lay  in  common,  and  all  her  benefits  were 
promiscuously  enjoyed,  what  could  be  happier  than  the  state 
of  mankind,  when  people  lived  without  avarice 
'^iunocenre''*^  ®'^''y ! What  could  be  richer  than  when 
there  was  not  a poor  man  to  be  found  in  the 
world!  So  soon  as  this  impartial  bounty  of  Providence 
came  to  be  restrained  by  covetousness,  and  that  particulars 
appropriated  that  to  themselves  which  was  intended  for  all, 
then  did  poverty  creep  into  the  world,  when  some  men,  by 
desiring  more  than  came  to  their  share,  lost  their  title  to 
the  rest ; a loss  never  to  be  repaired  ; for  though  we  may 
come  yet  to  get  much,  we  once  had  all.  The  fruits  of  the 
earth  were  in  those  days  divided  among  the  inhabitants  of 
it,  without  either  want  or  excess.  So  long  as  men  con- 
tented themselves  with  their  lot,  there  was  no  violence,  no 
engrossing  or  hiding  of  those  benefits  for  particular  advan- 
tages, which  were  appointed  for  the  community;  but  every 
man  had  as  much  care  for  his  neighbor  as  for  himself.  No 
arms  or  bloodshed,  no  war,  but  with  wild  beastS : but  under 
the  protection  of  a wood  or  a cave,  they  spent  their  days 
without  cares,  and  their  nights  without  groans;  their  inno- 
cence was  their  security  and  their  protection.  There  were 
as  yet  no  beds  of  state,  no  ornaments  of  pearl  or  embroidery, 
nor  any  of  those  remorses  that  attend  them ; but  the 
heavens  were  their  canopy,  and  the  glories  of  them  their 
spectacle.  The  motions  of  the  orbs,  the  courses  of  the  stars, 
and  the  wonderful  order  of  Providence,  was  their  contem- 
plation. There  was  no  fear  of  the  house  falling,  or  the  rust- 
ling of  a rat  behind  the  arras;  they  had  no  palaces  then 
like  cities ; but  they  had  open  air,  and  breathing  room, 
crystal  fountains,  refreshing  shades,  the  meadows  dressed 
up  in  their  nahve  beauty,  and  such  cottages  as  were  accord- 
ing to  nature,  and  wherein  they  lived  contentedly,  without 
fear  either  of  losing  or  of  falling.  These  people  lived  without 
either  solitude  or  fraud  ; and  yet  I must  call  them  rather 
happy  than  wise.  That  men  were  generally  better  before 
they  were  corrupted  than  after,  I make  no  doubt ; and  I am 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


149 


apt  to  believe  that  they  were  both  strongcir  and  hardier  too 
hut  their  wits  were  not  yet  come  to  maturity  ; for  Nature 
does  not  give  virtue ; and  it  is  a kind  of  art  to  become  good. 
They  had  not  as  yet  torn  up  the  bowels  of  the  earth  for  gold, 
silver*  or  precious  stones  ; and  so  far  were  they  from  killing 
any  man,  as  we  do,  for  a spectacle,  that  they  were  not  as  yet 
come  to  it,  either  in  fear  or  anger ; nay,  they  spared  the 
very  fishes.  But,  after  all  this,  they  were  innocent  because 
they  were  ignorant : and  there  is  a great  difference  betwixt 
not  knowing  how  to  offend  and  not  being  willing  to  do  it. 
They  had,  in  that  rude  life,  certain  images  and  resemblan- 
ces of  virtue,  but  yet  they  fell  short  of  virtue  itself,  which 
comes  only  by  institution,  learning,  and  study,  as  it  is  per- 
fected by  practice.  It  is  indeed  the  end  for  which  we  were 
born,  but  yet  it  did  not  come  into  the  world  with  us ; and  in 
the  best  of  men,  before  they  are  instructed,  we  find  rather 
the  matter  and  the  seeds  of  virtue  than  the  virtue  itself.  It  is 
the  wonderful  benignity  of  Nature  that  has  laid  open  to  us 
all  things  that  may  do  us  good,  and  only  hid  those  things 
from  us  that  may  hurt  us;  as  if  she  durst  not  trust  us  with 
gold  and  silver,  or  with  iron,  which  is  the  instrument  of  war 
and  contention,  for  the  other.  It  is  we  ourselves  that  have 
drawn  out  of  the  earth  both  the  causes  and  the  instruments 
ofourdangers:  and  we  are  so  vain  as  toset  the  highest  esteem 
upon  those  things  to  which  Nature  has  assigned  the  lowest 
place.  What  can  be  more  coarse  and  rude  in  the  mine  than 
these  precious  metals,  or  more  slavish  and  dirty  than  the  peo- 
ple that  dig  and  work  them?  and  yet  they  defile  our  minds 
more  than  our  bodies,  and  make  the  possessor  fouler  than 
the  artificer  of  them.  Rich  men,  in  fine,  are  only  the  greater 
slaves;  both  the  one  and  the  other  want  a great  deal. 

Happy  is  that  man  that  eats  only  for  hunger,  and  drinks 
only  for  thirst ; that  stands  upon  his  own  legs,  ^ temperate 
and  lives  by  reason,  not  by  example ; and  pro-  nfe  is  a happy 
vides  for  use  and  necessity,  not  for  ostentation  i'<®- 
and  pomp  1 Let  us  curb  our  appetites,  encourage  virtue,  and 
rather  be  beholden  to  ourselves  for  riches  than  to  Fortune, 
who,  when  a man  draws  himself  into  a narrow  compass, 
has  the  least  mark  at  him.  Let  my  bed  be  plain  and  clean, 
and  my  clothes  so  too:  my  meat  without  much  expense,  or 
many  waiters,  and  neither  a burden  to  my  purse  nor  to  my 
body,  not  to  go  out  the  same  way  it  came  in.  That  which 
is  too  little  for  luxury,  is  abundantly  enough  for  nature. 
The  end  of  eating  and  drinking  is  satiety;  now,  wnat 


150 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


matters  it  though  one  eats  and  drinks  more,  and  anotlier 
less,  so  long  as  the  one  is  not  a-hungry,  nor  the  other 
athirst]  Epicurus,  who  limits  pleasure  to  nature,  as  the 
Stoics  do  virtue,  is  undoubtedly  in  the  right;  and  those  that 
cite  him  to  authorize  their  voluptuousness  do  exceedingly 
mistake  him,  and  only  seek  a good  autliority  for  an  evil 
cause : for  their  pleasures  of  sloth,  gluttony,  and  lust,  have 
no  affinity  at  all  with  his  precepts  or  meaning.  It  is  true, 
that  at  first  sight  his  philosophy  seems  effeminate ; but  he 
that  looks  nearer  him  will  find  him  to  be  a very  brave  man 
only  in  a womanish  dress. 

It  is  a common  objection,  I know,  that  these  philosophers 
Let  phiioso-  fate  they  talk;  for  they  can 

pliers  live  as  flatter  their  superiors,  gather  estates,  and  be 
they  teach,  g^g  ptuf.])  concerned  at  the  loss  of  fortune,  or 
of  friends,  as  other  people : as  sensible  of  reproaches,  as 
luxurious  in  their  eating  and  drinking,  their  furniture,  their 
houses;  as  magnificent  in  their  plate,  servants, and  officers; 
as  profuse  and  curious  in  their  gardens,  &c.  Well ! and 
what  of  all  this,  or  if  it  were  twenty  times  morel  It  is  some 
degree  of  virtue  for  a man  to  condemn  himself;  and  if  he 
cannot  come  up  to  the  best,  to  be  yet  better  than  the  worst; 
and  if  he  cannot  wholly  subdue  his  appetites,  however  to 
check  and  diminish  them.  If  I do  not  live  as  I preach,  take 
notice  that  I do  not  speak  of  myself,  but  of  virtue,  nor  am  I 
so  much  offended  with  other  men’s  vices  as  with^  my  own. 
All  this  was  objected  to  Plato,  Epicurus,  Zeno ; nor  is  an}' 
virtue  so  sacred  as  to  escape  malevolence.  The  Cynic  De- 
metrius was  a great  instance  of  severity  and  mortification ; 
and  one  that  imposed  upon  himself  neither  to  possess  any 
thing,  nor  so  much  as  to  ask  it : and  yet  he  had  this  scorn 
put  upon  him,  that  his  profession  was  poverty,  not  virtue. 
Plato  is  blamed  for  asking  money ; Aristotle  for  receiving 
it;  Democritus  for  neglecting  it;  Epicurus  for  consuming 
it  How  happy  were  we  if  we  could  but  come  to  imitate 
these  men’s  vices;  for  if  we  knew  our  own  condition,  we 
should  find  work  enough  at  home.  But  we  are  like  people 
that  are  making  merry  at  a play  or  a tavern  when  their  own 
houses  are  on  fire,  and  yet  they  know  nothing  of  it.  Nay, 
Cato  himself  was  said  to  be  a drunkard  ; but  drunkenness 
itself  shall  sooner  be  proved  to  be  no  crime  than  Cato  dis- 
honest. They  that  demolish  temples,  and  overturn  altars, 
show  their  good-will,  though  they  can  do  the  gods  no  hurt, 
and  so  it.  fares  with  those  that  invade  the  reputation  of  great 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


151 


men.  If  the  professors  of  virtue  he,  as  the  world  calls  them, 
avaricious,  libidinous,  ambitious ; what  are  they  then  that 
have  a detestation  for  the  very  name  of  itl  But  malicious 
natures  do  not  want  wit  to  abuse  honester  men  than  them- 
selves. It  is  the  practice  of  the  multitude  to  bark  at  emi- 
nent men,  as  little  dogs  do  at  strangers ; for  they  look  upon 
other  men’s  virtues  as  the  upbraiding  of  their  own  wicked- 
ness. We  should  do  well  to  commend  those  that  are  good ; 
if  not,  let  us  pass  them  over ; but  however,  let  us  spare  our- 
.selves ; for  beside  the  blaspheming  of  virtue,  our  rage  is  to 
no  purpose.  But  to  return  now  to  my  text 

We  are  ready  enough  to  limit  others,  but  loth  to  put 
bounds  and  restraint  upon  ourselves;  though  it  js  .rood  to 
we  know  that  many  times  a greater  evil  is  practise  frugai- 
cured  by  a less;  and  the  mind  that  will  not  be  *“  plenty, 
brought  to  virtue  by  precepts,  comes  to  it  frequently  by  ne- 
cessity. Let  us  try  a little  to  eat  upon  a joint  stool,  to  serve 
ourselves,  to  live  within  compass,  and  accommodate  our 
clothes  to  the  end  they  were  made  for.  Occasional  experi- 
ments of  our  moderation  give  us  the  best  proof  of  our  firm- 
ness and  virtue.  A well-governed  appetite  is  a great  part 
of  liberty;  and  it  is  a blessed  lot,  that  since  no  man  can 
have  all  things  that  he  would  have,  we  may  all  of  us  for- 
bear desiring  what  we  have  not.  It  is  the  office  of  Tem- 
perance to  overrule  us  in  our  pleasures  : some  she  rejects, 
others  she  qualifies  and  keeps  within  bounds ; Oh  ! the  de- 
lights of  rest,  when  a man  comes  to  be  weary  ; and  of  meat, 
when  he  is  heartily  hungry ! I have  learned  (says  our  au- 
thor) by  one  journey,  how  many  things  we  have  that  are 
superfluous,  and  how  easily  they  might  be  spared  ; for  when 
we  are  without  them,  upon  necessit}',  we  do  not  so  much  as 
feel  the  want  of  them.  This  is  the  second  blessed  day  (says 
he)  that  my  friend  and  I have  travelled  together ; one  wagon 
carries  ourselves  and  our  servants:  my  matress  lies  upon 
the  ground,  and  I upon  that:  our  diet  answerable  to  our 
lodging;  and  never  without  our  figs  and  our  table-books. 
The  muleteer  without  shoes,  and  the  mules  only  prove 
themselves  to  be  alive  by  their  walking.  In  this  equipage, 
I am  not  willing,  I perceive,  to  own  myself,  but  as  often  as 
we  happen  into  better  company,  I presently  fall  a blushing , 
which  shows  that  I am  not  yet  confirmed  in  those  things 
which  I approve  and  commend ; I am  not  yet  come  to  own 
my  frugality ; for  he  that  is  ashamed  to  be  seen  in  a mean 
condition  would  be  proud  of  a splendid  one.  I value  myself 


152 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


upon  what  passengers  think  of  me,  and  tacitly  renounce  my 
principles ; whereas,  I should  rather  lift  up  my  voice  to  be 
heard  by  mankind,  and  tell  them,  “You  are  all  mad;  your 
minds  are  set  up>on  superfluities,  and  you  value  no  man  for 
his  virtues.”  1 came  one  night  weary  home,  and  threw  my- 
self upon  the  bed,  with  this  consideration  about  me,  “There 
is  nothing  ill  that  is  well  taken.”  My  baker  tells  me,  he  has 
no  bread ; but,  says  he,  I may  get  some  of  your  tenants, 
though  I fear  it  is  not  good.  No  matter,  said  I,  for  I will 
stay  until  it  be  better;  that  is  to  say,  until  my  stomach  will 
be  glad  of  worse.  It  is  discretion  sometimes  to  practise 
temperance,  and  wont  ourselves  to  a little;  for  there  are 
many  difficulties,  both  of  time  and  place,  that  may  force  us 
upon  it.  When  we  come  to  the  matter  of  patrimony,  how 
strictly  do  we  examine  what  every  man  is  worth  before  we 
will  trust  him  with  a penny  ! “ Such  a man,”  we  cry,  “has 
a great  estate,  but  it  is  shrewdly  encumbered ; a very  fair 
house,  hut  it  was  built  with  borrowed  money ; a numerous 
family,  but  he  does  not  keep  touch  with  his  creditors ; if  his 
debts  were  paid,  he  would  not  be  worth  a groat.”  Why  do 
we  not  take  the  same  course  in  other  things,  and  examine 
what  every  man  is  worth  1 It  is  not  enough  to  have  a long 
train  of  attendants,  vast  possessions,  or  an  incredible  treasure 
in  money  and  jewels ; a man  may  be  poor  for  all  this. 
There  is  only  this  difference  at  best;  one  man  borrows  of 
the  usurer,  and  the  other  of  fortune.  What  signifies  the 
carving  or  gilding  of  the  chariot;  is  the  master  ever  the 
better  of  it  1 

We  cannot  close  up  this  chapter  with  a more  generous 
The  moiiera-  instance  of  moderation  than  that  of  Fabricius, 
tion  .and  brave-  Pyrrhus  tempted  him  with  a sum  of  money  to 
ry  of  Fabricius,  jjgjpgy  j^jg  country;  and  Pyrrhus’s  physician 
offered  Fabricius,  for  a sum  of  money,  to  poison  his  master  ; 
but  he  was  too  brave,  either  to  be  overcome  by  gold,  or  to  be 
overcome  by  poison  ; so  that  he  refused  the  money,  and  ad- 
vised Pyrrhus  to  have  a care  of  treachery ; and  this  in  the 
heat  too  of  a licentious  war.  Fabricius  valued  himself  upon 
his  poverty,  and  was  as  much  above  the  thought  of  riches  as 
of  poison.  “Live,  Pyrrhus,”  says  he,  “ by  my  friendship ; 
and  turn  that  to  thy  satisfaction,  which  was  before  thy  trou- 
ble ;”  that  is  to  say,  that  Fabricius  could  not  be  corrupted. 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


]r>3 


CHAP.  XVI. 

*hnstancy  of  mind  gives  a man  reputation,  and  makes  him 
happy  in  despite  of  all  misfortune. 

The  whole  duty  of  man  may  be  reduced  to  the  two  points 
of  abstinence  and  patience  ; temperance  in  prosperity,  and 
courage  in  adversity.  We  have  already  treated  of  the  for- 
mer ; and  the  other  follows  now  in  course. 

Epicurus  will  have  it,  that  a wise  man  will  bear  all  in- 
juries; but  the  Stoics  will  not  allow  those 
thinars  to  be  injuries  which  Epicurus  calls  so.  A wise  man  is 
Now,  betwixt  these  two,  there  is  the  same  dif- 
ference that  we  find  betwixt  two  gladiators ; the  one  re- 
ceives wounds,  but  yet  maintains  his  ground,  the  other  tells 
the  people,  when  he  is  in  blood,  that  it  is  but  a scratch,  and 
will  not  suffer  any  body  to  part  them.  An  injury  cannot 
be  received,  but  it  must  be  done ; but  it  may  be  done,  and 
yet  not  received ; as  a man  may  be  in  the  water,  and  not 
swim,  but  if  he  swims,  it  is  presumed  that  he  is  in  the  water. 
Or  if  a blow  or  a shot  be  levelled  at  us,  it  may  so  happen 
that  a man  may  miss  his  aim,  or  some  accident  interpose  that 
may  divert  the  mischief.  That  which  is  hurt  is  passive,  and 
inferior  to  that  which  hurts  it.  But  you  will  say,  that  Socrates 
was  condemned  and  put  to  death,  and  so  received  an  injury; 
but  I answer,  that  the  tyrants  did  him  an  injury,  and  yet  he 
received  none.  He  that  steals  any  thing  from  me  and  hides 
it  in  my  own  house,  though  I have  not  lost  it,  yet  he  has 
stolen  it.  He  that  lies  with  his  own  wife,  and  takes  her  for 
another  woman,  though  the  woman  be  honest,  the  man  is  an 
adulterer.  Suppose  a man  gives  me  a draught  of  poison 
and  it  proves  not  strong  enough  to  kill  me,  his  guilt  is  nevei 
the  less  for  the  disappointment.  He  that  makes  a pass  at 
me  is  as  much  a murderer,  though  I put  it  by,  as  if  he  had 
struck  me  to  the  heart.  It  is  the  intention,  not  the  effect, 
that  makes  the  wickedness.  He  is  a thief  that  has  the  will 
of  killing  and  slaying,  before  his  hand  is  dipt  in  blood ; as 
it  is  sacrilege,  the  very  intention  of  laying  violent  hands 
upon  holy  things.  If'a  philosopher  be  exposed  to  torments, 
the  ax  over  his  head,  his  body  wounded,  his  guts  in  his 
hands,  I will  allow  him  to  groan ; for  virtue  itself  cannot 
divest  him  of  the  nature  of  a man ; but  if  his  mind  stand 
firm,  he  has  discharged  his  part.  A great  mind  enables  a 


154 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


man  to  maintain  his  station  with  honor ; so  that  he  only 
makes  use  of  what  he  meets  in  his  way,  as  a pilgrim  that 
would  fain  be  at  his  journey’s  end. 

It  is  the  excellency  of  a great  mind  to  ask  nothing,  and 
A , to  leant  nothing ; and  to  say,  “ I will  have  no- 

neither  asks  thing’  to  Qo  With  lortune,  that  repulses  Cato, 
“"yelling  nor  and  prefers  Vatinius.”  He  that  quits  his  hold, 
n.in  sany  accounts  any  thing  good  that  is  not  honest, 

runs  gaping  after  casualties,  spends  his  days  in  anxiety  and 
vain  expectation,  that  man  is  miserable.  And  yet  it  is  hard, 
you  will  say,  to  be  banished  or  cast  into  prison : nay,  what 
if  it  were  to  be  burnt,  or  any  other  way  destroyed]  We 
have  examples  in  all  ages,  and  in  all  cases,  of  great  men 
that  have  triumphed  over  all  misfortunes. — Metellus  suffered 
exile  resolutely,  Rutilius  cheerfully;  Socrates  disputed  in 
the  dungeon;  and  though  he  might  have  made  his  escape, 
refused  it ; to  show  the  world  how  easy  a thing  it  was  to 
ubdue  the  two  great  terrors  of  mankind,  death  and  a jail. 
Or  what  shall  we  say  of  Mucius  Scevola,  a man  only  of  a 
military  courage,  and  without  the  help  either  of  philosophy 
or  letters]  who,  when  he  found  that  he  had  killed  the  Secre- 
tary instead  of  Porsenna,  (the  prince,)  burnt  his  right  hand 
to  ashes  for  the  mistake;  and  held  his  arm  in  the  flame 
until  it  was  taken  away  by  his  very  enemies.  Porsenna 
did  more  easily  pardon  Mucius  for  his  intent  to  kill  him 
than  Mucius  forgave  himself  for  missing  of  his  aim.  He 
might  have  a luckier  thing,  but  never  a braver. 

Uid  not  Cato,  in  the  last  night  of  his  life,  take  Plato  to 
bed  with  him,  with  his  sword  at  his  bed’s 
Cato  s constancy,  . the  one  that  he  might  have  death  at 
his  will,  the  other,  that  he  might  have  it  in  his  power;  be- 
ing resolved  that  no  man  should  be  able  to  say,  either  that 
he  killed  or  that  he  saved  Cato]  So  soon  as  he  had  com- 
posed his  thoughts,  he  took  his  sword;  “Fortune,”  says  he, 
“I  have  hitherto  fought  for  my  country’s  liberty,  and  for 
my  own,  and  only  that  I might  live  free  among  freemen  ; 
but  the  cause  is  now  lost,  and  Cato  safe.”  With  that  word 
he  cast  himself  upon  his  sword ; and  after  the  physicians 
that  pressed  in  upon  him  had  bound  up  his  wound,  he  tort 
it  up  again,  and  expired  with  the  same  greatness  of  soul  that 
he  lived.  But  these  are  the  examples,  you  will  say,  of  men 
famous  in  their  generations.  Let  us  but  consult  history, 
and  we  shall  find,  even  in  the  most  effeminate  of  nations, 
and  the  most  dissolute  of  times,  men  of  all  degrees,  ages, 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


155 


and  fortunes,  nay,  even  women  themselves,  that  have  over- 
come the  fear  of  death:  which,  in  truth,  is  so  little  to  be 
feared,  that  duly  considered,  it  is  one  of  the  greatest  bene- 
fits of  nature.  It  was  as  great  an  honor  for  Cato,  when  his 
party  was  broken,  that  he  himself  stood  his  ground,  as  it 
would  have  been  if  he  had  carried  the  day,  and  settled  an 
universal  peace : for,  it  is  an  equal  prudence,  to  make  the 
best  of  a bad  game,  and  to  manage  a good  one.  The  day 
that  he  was  repulsed,  he  plmjed,  and  the  night  that  he  kill- 
ed himself,  he  read,  as  valuing  the  loss  of  his  life,  and  the 
missing  of  an  office,  at  the  same  rate.  People,  I know,  are 
apt  to  pronounce  upon  other  men’s  infirmities  by  the  mea- 
sure of  their  own,  and  to  think  it  impossible  that  a man 
should  be  content  to  be  burnt,  wounded,  killed,  or  shackled, 
though  in  some  cases  he  may.  It  is  only  for  a great  mind 
to  judge  of  great  things;  for  otherwise,  that  which  is  our 
infirmity  will  seem  to  be  another  body’s,  as  a straight  stick 
in  the  water  appears  to  be  crooked  : he  that  yields,  draws 
upon  his  own  head  his  own  ruin ; for  we  are  sure  to  get  the 
better  of  Fortune,  if  we  do  but  struggle  with  her.  Fencers 
and  wrestlers,  we  see  what  blows  and  bruises  they  endure, 
not  only  for  honor,  but  for  exercise.  If  we  turn  our  backs 
once,  we  are  routed  and  pursued  ; that  man  only  is  happy 
that  draws  good  out  of  evil,  that  stands  fast  in  his  judgment, 
and  unmoved  with  any  external  violence ; or  however,  so 
little  moved,  that  the  keenest  arrow  in  the  quiver  of  For- 
tune is  but  as  the  prick  of  a needle  to  him  rather  than  a 
wound ; and  all  her  other  weapons  fall  upon  him  only  as 
hail  upon  the  roof  of  a house,  that  crackles  and  skips  off 
again,  without  any  damage  to  the  inhabitant. 

A generous  and  clear-sighted  young  man  will  take  it 
for  a happiness  to  encounter  ill  fortune.  It  is 
nothing  for  a man  to  hold  up  his  head  in  a evil  in  adversity 
calm ; but  to  maintain  his  post  when  all  others  is  'he  snbmit- 
have  quitted  their  ground,  and  there  to  stand 
upright  where  other  men  are  beaten  down,  this  is  divine 
and  praiseworthy.  What  ill  is  there  in  torments,  or  in 
those  things  which  we  commonly  account  grievous  crosses? 
The  great  evil  is  the  want  of  courage,  the  bowing  and  sub- 
mitting to  them,  which  can  never  happen  to  a wise  man  ; 
for  he  stands  upright  under  any  weight ; nothing  that  is  to 
be  borne  displeases  him;  he  knows  his  strength,  and  what- 
soever may  be  any  man’s  lot,  he  never  complains  of,  if  it  be 
fiis  own.  Nature,  he  says,  deceives  nobody  ; she  does  not 


156 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


tell  us  whether  our  children  shall  be  fair  or  foul,  wise  or 
foolish,  good  subjects  or  traitors,  nor  whether  our  fortune 
shall  be  good  or  bad.  We  must  not  judge  of  a man  by  his 
ornaments,  but  strip  him  of  all  the  advantages  and  the  im- 
jwstures  of  Fortune,  nay,  of  his  very  body  too,  and  look  into 
his  mind.  If  he  can  see  a naked  sword  at  his  eyes  without  so 
much  as  winking;  if  he  make  it  a thing  indifferent  to  him 
whether  his  life  go  out  at  his  throat  or  at  his  mouth  ; if  he 
can  hear  himself  sentenced  to  torments  or  exiles,  and  under 
the  very  hand  of  the  executioner,  says  thus  to  himself,  “ All 
this  I am  provided  for,  and  it  is  no  more  than  a man  that  is 
to  suffer  the  fate  of  humanity.”  This  is  the  temper  of  mind 
that  speaks  a man  happy ; and  without  this,  all  the  conflu- 
ences of  external  comforts  signify  no  more  than  the  persona- 
ting of  a king  upon  the  stage ; when  the  curtain  is  drawn,  we 
are  players  again.  Not  that  I pretend  to  exempt  a wise 
man  out  of  the  number  of  men,  as  if  he  had  no  sense  of  pain; 
but  I reckon  him  as  compounded  of  body  and  soul : the  body 
is  irrational,  and  may  be  galled,  burnt,  tortured;  but  the 
rational  part  is  fearless,  invincible,  and  not  to  be  shaken. 
This  is  it  that  I reckon  upon  as  the  supreme  good  of  man ; 
which,  until  it  be  perfected,  is  but  an  unsteady  agitation  of 
thought,  and  in  the  perfection  an  immovable  stability.  It 
is  not  in  our  contentions  with  Fortune  as  in  those  of  the 
theatre,  where  we  may  throw  down  our  arms,  and  pray  for 
quarter ; but  here  we  must  die  firm  and  resolute.  There 
needs  no  encouragement  to  those  things  which  we  are  in- 
clined to  by  a natural  instinct,  as  the  preservation  of  our- 
selves with  ease  and  pleasure;  but  if  it  comes  to  the  trial 
of  our  faith  by  torments,  or  of  our  courage  by  wounds,  these 
are  difficulties  that  we  must  be  armed  against  by  philosophy 
ana  precept ; and  yet  all  this  is  no  more  than  what  we  were 
born  to,  and  no  matter  of  wonder  at  all;  so  that  a wise 
man  prepares  himself  for  it,  as  expecting  whatsoever  may 
be  will  he.  My  body  is  frail,  and  liable  not  only  to  the  im- 
pressions of  violence,  but  to  afflictions  also,  that  naturally 
succeed  our  pleasures.  Full  meals  bi mg  crudities;  whoring 
and  drinking  make  the  hands  to  shake  and  the  knees  to 
tremble.  It  is  only  the  surprise  and  newness  of  the  thing 
which  makes  that  misfortune  terrible,  which,  by  premedita- 
tion, might  be  made  easy  to  us : for  that  which  some  people 
make  light  by  sufferance,  others  do  by  foresight.  Whatso- 
ever is  nece.saary,  we  must  bear  patiently.  It  is  no  new 
thing  to  die,  no  new  thing  to  mourn,  and  no  new  thing  to 


SENECA.  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


157 


oe  merry  again.  Must  I be  poor.?  I shall  have  company: 
in  banishment  1 I will  think  myself  born  there.  If  I rfte, 
I shall  be  no  more  sick ; and  it  is  a thing  I cannot  do  but 
once. 

Let  us  never  wonder  at  any  thing  we  are  born  to;  for  no 
man  has  reason  to  complain,  where  we  are  all 
in  the  same  condition.  He  that  escapes  might  surprised  witii 
have  suffered  ; and  it  is  but  equal  to  submit  to  what  he  is 
the  law  of  mortality.  We  must  undergo  the 
colds  of  winter,  the  heats  of  summer;  the  distempers  of 
the  air,  and  the  diseases  of  the  body.  A wild  beast  meets 
us  in  one  place,  and  a man  that  is  more  brutal  in  another; 
we  are  here  assaulted  by  fire,  there  by  water.  Demetrius 
was  reserved  by  Providence  for  the  age  he  lived  in,  to 
show,  that  neither  the  times  could  corrupt  him,  nor  he 
reform  the  people.  He  was  a man  of  an  exact  judgment, 
steady  to  his  purpose,  and  of  a strong  eloquence ; not  fini- 
cal in  his  words,  but  his  sense  was  masculine  and  vehement. 
He  was  so  qualified  in  his  life  and  discourse,  that  he  served 
both  for  an  example  and  a reproach.  If  Fortune  should  have 
offered  that  man  the  government  and  the  possession  of  the 
whole  world,  upon  condition  not  to  lay  it  down  again,  I dare 
say  he  would  have  refused  it:  and  thus  have  expostulated  the 
matter  with  you  ; “ Why  should  you  tempt  a freeman  to  put 
his  shoulder  under  a burden ; or  an  honest  man  to  pollute 
himself  with  the  dregs  of  mankind  1 Why  do  you  offer  me 
the  spoils  of  princes,  and  of  nations,  and  the  price  not  only 
of  your  blood,  but  of  your  souls  1”  It  is  the  part  of  a great 
mind  to  be  temperate  in  prosperity,  resolute  in  adversity  ; 
to  despise  what  the  vulgar  admire,  and  to  prefer  a mediocrity 
to  an  excess.  Was  not  Socrates  oppressed  with  poverty, 
labor,  nay,  the  worst  of  wars  in  his  own  family,  a fierce 
and  turbulent  woman  to  his  wife  1 were  not  his  children 
indocile,  and  like  their  mother?  After  seven-and-twenty 
years  spent  in  arms,  he  fell  under  a slavery  to  the  thirty 
tyrants,  and  most  of  them  his  bitter  enemies : he  came  at 
last  to  be  sentenced  as  “ a violator  of  religion,  a corrupter 
of  youth,  and  a common  enemy  to  God  and  man.”  Aftet 
this  he  was  imprisoned,  and  put  to  death  by  poison,  which 
was  all  so  far  from  working  upon  his  mind,  that  it  never 
so  much  as  altered  his  countenance.  We  are  to  bear  ill 
accidents  as  unkind  seasons,  distempers,  or  diseases ; and 
why  mny  we  not  reckon  the  actions  of  wicked  men  even 
Ujose  accidents  ; their  deliberations  are  not  counsels 
O 


158 


SENECA  OF  A TiAPPY  LIFE. 


but  frauds,  snares,  and  inordinate  motions  of  the  mind ; and 
they  are  never  without  a tliousand  pretences  and  occasions 
of  doing  a man  mischief.  They  have  their  informers,  their 
knights  of  the  post ; they  can  make  an  interest  with  powerful 
men,  and  one  may  be  robbed  as  well  upon  the  bench  as 
upon  the  highway.  They  lie  in  wait  for  advantages,  and 
live  in  perpetual  agitation  betwixt  hope  and  fear;  whereas 
he  that  is  truly  composed  will  stand  all  shocks,  either  of 
violences,  flatteries,  or  menaces,  without  perturbation.  It 
is  an  inward  fear  that  makes  us  curious  after  what  we 
hear  abroad. 

It  is  an  error  to  attribute  either  good  or  ill  to  Fortune ; 
The  works  of  matter  of  it  we  may ; and  we  our- 

Foriiine'are'  selves  are  the  occasion  of  it,  being  in  effect 
neither  good  the  artificers  of  our  own  happiness  or  misery; 
nor  evil,  jjjjud  jg  above  fortune ; if  that  be  evil, 

it  makes  every  thing  else  so  too;  but  if  it  be  right  and 
sincere,  it  corrects  what  is  wrong,  and  mollifies  what  is 
hard,  with  modesty  and  courage.  There  is  a great  differ- 
ence among  those  that  the  world  calls  wise  men.  Some 
take  up  private  resolutions  of  opposing  Fortune,  but  they 
cannot  go  througli  with  them ; for  they  are  either  dazzled 
with  splendor  on  the  one  hand,  or  affrighted  with  terrors 
on  the  other ; but  there  are  others  that  will  close  and  grap- 
ple with  Fortune,  and  still  come  off  victorious.  Mucius 
overcame  the  fire;  Regulus,  the  gibbet ; Socrates,  poison ; 
Rutilius,  banishment;  Cato,  death;  Fabricius,  riches;  Tu- 
bero, poverty ; and  Sextius,  honors.  But  there  are  some 
again  so  delicate,  that  they  cannot  so  much  as  bear  a scan- 
dalous report ; which  is  the  same  thing  as  if  a man  should 
quarrel  for  being  justled  in  a crowd,  or  dashed  as  he  walks 
in  the  streets.  He  that  has  a great  way  to  go  must  expect 
a slip,  to  stumble,  and  to  be  tired.  To  the  luxurious  man 
frugality  is  a punishment ; labor  and  industry  to  the  slug- 
gard ; nay,  study  itself  is  a torment  to  him : not  that  these 
things  are  hard  to  us  by  nature,  but  we  ourselves  are  vain 
and  irresolute:  nay,  we  wonder  many  of  us,  how  any  man 
can  live  without  wine,  or  endure  to  rise  so  early  in  a morning. 

A brave  man  must  expect  to  be  tossed  ; for  he  is  to  steer 
VirtiiB  is  giori- course  in  the  teeth  of  Fortune,  and  to 
ous  in  extremi-  work  against  wind  and  weather.  In  the  suffer- 
ing  of  torments,  though  there  appears  but  one 
virtue,  a man  exercises  many.  That  which  is  most  eminent 
is  patience,  (which  is  but  a branch  of  fortitude.)  But  there 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


159 


is  prudence  also  in  the. choice  of  the  action,  and  in  the  bear- 
ings what  we  cannot  a-void ; and  there  is  constancy  in  bear- 
ing it  resolutely ; and  there  is  the  same  concurrence  also 
of  several  virtues  in  other  generous  undertakings.  When 
J,eonidas  was  to  carry  his  300  men  into  the  Straits  of 
Thermopylae,  to  put  a stop  to  Xerxes’s  huge  army;  “Come, 
fellow-soldiers,”  says  he,  “ eat  your  dinners  here  as  if  you 
were  to  sup  in  another  world.”  And  they  answered  his  reso- 
lution. How  plain  and  imperious  was  that  short  speech  of 
Cteditius  to  his  men  upon  a desperate  action  ! and  how  glo- 
rious a mixture  was  there  in  it  both  of  bravery  and  pru- 
dence ! “ Soldiers,”  says  he,  “ it  is  necessary  for  us  to  go, 

but  it  is  not  necessary  for  us  to  return.”  This  brief  and 
pertinent  harangue  was  worth  ten  thousand  of  the  frivolous 
cavils  and  distinctions  of  the  schools,  which  rather  break 
the  mind  than  fortify  it ; and  when  it  is  once  perplexed  and 
pricked  with  difficulties  and  scruples,  there  they  leave  it. 
Our  passions  are  numerous  and  strong,  and  not  to  be 
mastered  with  quirks  and  tricks,  as  if  a man  should  under- 
take to  defend  the  cause  of  God  and  man  with  a bulrush. 
It  was  a remarkable  piece  of  honor  and  policy  together,  that 
action  of  Caesar’s,  upon  the  taking  of  Pompey’s  cabinet  at 
the  battle  of  Pharsalia  : it  is  probable  that  the  letters  in  it 
might  have  discovered  who  were  his  friends,  and  who  his 
enemies ; and  yet  he  burnt  it  without  so  much  as  opening 
it:  esteeming  it  the  noblest  way  of  pardoning,  to  keep  him- 
self ignorant  both  of  the  offender  and  of  the  offence.  It 
was  a brave  presence  of  mind  also  in  Alexander,  who, 
upon  advice  that  his  physician  Philip  intended  to  poison  him, 
took  the  letter  of  advice  in  one  hand,  and  the  cup  in  the 
other ; delivering  Philip  the  letter  to  read  while  he  himself 
drank  the  potion. 

Some  are  of  opinion  that  death  gives  a man  courage  to 
support  pain,  and  that  pain  fortifies  a man 
against  death : but  I say  rather,  that  a ^vise  '^vincible'" 
man  depends  upon  himself  against  both,  and 
that  he  does  not  either  suffer  with  patience,  in  hopes  of 
death,  or  die  willingly,  because  he  is  weary  of  life;  but  he 
bears  the  one,  and  waits  for  the  other,  and  carries  a divine 
mind  through  all  the  accidents  of  human  life.  He  looks 
upon  faith  and  honesty  as  the  most  sacred  good  of  mankind, 
and  neither  to  be  forced  by  necessity  nor  corrupted  by 
reward ; kill,  burn,  tear  him  in  pieces,  he  will  be  true  to 
nis  trust : and  the  more  any  man  labors  to  make  him  dis- 


160 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


cover  a secret,  the  deeper  will  he  hide  it.  Resolution  is  tJie 
inexpug-nable  defence  of  human  weakness,  and  it  is  a won- 
derful Providence  that  attends  it.  Horatius  Codes  opposed 
his  sing-le  body  to  the  whole  army,  until  the  bridge  was  cut 
down  behind  him,  and  then  leaped  into  the  river  with  his 
sword  in  bis  hand,  and  came  off  safe  to  his  party.  There 
was  a fellow  questioned  about  a plot  upon  the  life  of  a 
tyrant,  and  put  to  the  torture  to  declare  his  confederates : 
he  named,  by  one  and  one,  all  the  tyrant’s  friends  that  were 
about  h'm : and  still  as  they  were  named,  they  were  put  to 
death  : the  tyrant  asked  him  at  last  if  there  were  any  more. 
Yes,  says  he,  yourself  were  in  the  plot;  and  now  you  have 
never  another  friend  left  in  the  world : whereupon  the  tyrant 
cut  the  throats  of  his  own  guards.  “ He  is  the  happy  man 
that  is  the  master  of  himself,  and  triumphs  over  the  fear  of 
death,  which  has  overcome  the  conquerors  of  the  world.” 


CHAP.  XVII. 

Our  happiness  depends  in  a great  measure  upon  the 
choice  of  our  company. 

The  comfort  of  life  depends  upon  conversation.  Good 
offices,  and  concord,  and  human  society,  is  like  the  working 
of  an  arch  of  stone;  all  would  fall  to  the  ground  if  one 
piece  did  not  support  another.  Above  all  things  let  us  have 
a tenderness  for  blood  ; and  it  is  yet  too  little  not  to  hurt, 
unless  we  profit  one  another.  We  are  to  relieve  the  dis- 
tressed ; to  put  the  wanderer  into  his  way ; and  to  divide 
our  bread  with  the  hungry : which  is  but  the  doing  of  good 
to  ourselves;  for  we  are  only  several  members  of  one  great 
body.  Nay,  we  are  all  of  a consanguinity ; formed  of  the 
same  materials,  and  designed  to  the  same  end ; this  obliges 
us  to  a mutual  tenderness  and  converse  ; and  the  other,  to 
live  with  a regard  to  equity  and  justice.  The  love  of  society 
is  natural ; but  the  choice  of  our  company  is  matter  of 
virtue  and  prudence.  Noble  examples  stir  us  up  to  noble 
actions;  and  the  very  history  of  large  and  public  souls,  in- 
spires a man  with  generous  thoughts.  It  makes  a man  long 
to  be  in  action,  and  doing  something  that  the  world  may  be 
the  better  for ; as  protecting  the  weak,  delivering  the 
oppressed,  punishing  the  insolent.  It  is  a great  blessings 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


16J 


the  very  conscience  of  giving  a good  example ; beside,  that 
it  is  the  greatest  obligation  any  man  can  lay  upon  the  age 
he  lives  in.  He  that  converses  with  the  proud  shall  be 
puffed  up;  a lustful  acquaintance  makes  a man  lascivious; 
and  the  way  to  secure  a man  from  wickedness  is  to-with- 
draw  from  the  examples  of  it.  It  is  too  much  to  have  them 
near  us,  but  more  to  have  them  within  us : ill  examples, 
pleasure,  and  ease,  are,  no  doubt  of  it,  great  corrupters  of 
manners.  A rocky  ground  hardens  the  horse’s  hoof;  the 
mountaineer  makes  the  best  soldier,  the  miner  makes  the 
best  pioneer,  and  severity  of  discipline  fortifies  the  mind. 
In  all  excesses  and  extremities  of  good  and  of  ill  fortune, 
let  us  have  recourse  to  great  examples  that  have  contemned 
both.  “ These  are  the  best  instructors  that  teach  in  theii 
lives,  and  prove  their  words  by  their  actions.” 

As  an  ill  air  may  endanger  a good  constitution,  so  may  a 
place  of  ill  example  endanger  a good  man. 

Nay,  there  are  some  places  that  have  a kind  solute  places  as 
of  privilege  to  be  licentious,  and  where  luxury  ®s  loose 
and  dissolution  of  manners  seem  to  be  law- 
ful ; for  great  examples  give  both  authority  and  excuse  to 
wickedness.  Those  places  are  to  be  avoided  as  dangerous 
to  our  manners.  Hannibal  himself  was  unmanned  by  the 
looseness  of  Campania;  and  though  a conqueror  by  hi? 
arms,  he  was  overcome  by  his  pleasures.  I would  as  soor 
live  among  butchers  as  among  cooks ; not  but  a man  may 
be  temperate  in  any  place,  but  to  see  drunken  men  stagger- 
ing up  and  down  everywhere,  and  only  the  spectacle  of 
lust,  luxury,  and  excess,  before  our  eyes,  it  is  not  safe  to 
expose  ourselves  to  the  temptation.  If  the  victorious  Han 
nibal  himself  could  not  resist  it,  what  shall  become  of  us 
then  that  are  subdued,  and  give  ground  to  our  lusts  already  ?- 
He  that  has  to  do  with  an  enemy  in  his  breast,  has  a harder 
task  upon  him  than  he  that  is  to  encounter  one  in  the  field : 
his  hazard  is  greater  if  he  loses  ground,  and  his  duty  is 
perpetual ; for  he  has  no  place  or  time  for  rest.  If  I give 
way  to  pleasure,  I must  also  yield  to  grief,  to  poverty,  to 
labor,  ambition,  anger,  until  I am  torn  to  pieces  by  my  mis- 
fortunes and  lusts.  But  against  all  this,  philosophy  pro- 
pounds a liberty,  that  is  to  say,  a liberty  from  the  service  of 
accidents  and  fortune.  There  is  not  any  thing  that  does 
more  mischief  to  mankind  than  mercenary  masters  and 
philosophy,  that  do  not  live  as  they  teach;  they  give  a 
scandal  to  virtue.  How  can  any  man  expect  that  a ship 
02 


162 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


should  steer  a fortunate  course  when  the  pilot  lies  wallow- 
ing in  his  own  vomit"!  It  is  a usual  thing,  first  to  learn  to 
do  ill  ourselves,  and  then  to  instruct  others  to  do  so:  but 
that  man  must  needs  be  very  wicked  that  has  gathered  into 
himself  the  wickedness  of  other  people. 

The  best  conversation  is  with  the  philosophers;  that  is  to 
Practical  philo-  such  of  them  as  teach  us  matter,  not 

sophers  are  the  words : that  preach  to  us  things  necessary 
best  company,  jj^g  practice  of  them.  There 

can  be  no  peace  in  human  life  without  the  contempt  of  all 
events.  There  is  nothing  that  either  puts  better  thoughts 
into  a man,  o;  sooner  sets  him  right  that  is  out  of  the  way, 
than  a good  companion : for  the  example  has  the  force  of  a 
precept,  and  touches  the  heart  with  an  affection  to  goodness. 
And  not  only  the  frequent  hearing  and  speing  of  a wise 
man  delights  us,  but  the  very  encounter  of  him  suggests 
profitable  contemplation  ; such  as  a man  finds  himself  moved 
with  when  he  goes  into  a holy  place.  I will  take  more 
care  with  whom  I eat  and  drink  than  what;  for  without  a 
friend,  the  table  is  a manger.  Writing  does  well,  but  per- 
sonal discourse  and  conversation  does  better:  for  men  give 
great  credit  to  their  ears,  and  take  stronger  impressions 
from  example  than  precept.  Cleanthes  had  never  hit  Zeno 
so  to  the  life,  if  he  had  not  been  in  w'ith  him  at  all  his  pri- 
vacies: if  he  had  not  watched  and  observed  him  whether  or 
ot  he  practised  as  he  taught. — Plato  got  more  from  Soc- 
ates’  tnanners  than  from  his  words;  and  it  was  not  the 
school,  but  the  company  and  familiarity  of  Epicurus,  that 
made  Metrodorus,  Hermachus,  and  Polyaenus  so  famous. 

Now,  though  it  be  by  instinct  that  we  covet  society,  and 
The  more  com-  avoid  Solitude,  we  should  yet  take  this  along 
pany  the  more  with  US,  that  the  more  acquaintance  the  more 
danger.  danger.  Nay,  there  is  not  one  man  of  a hun- 
dred that  is  to  be  trusted  with  himself  If  company  cannot 
alter  us,  it  may  interrupt  us ; and  he  that  so  much  as  stops 
upon  the  way  loses  a great  deal  of  a short  life,  which  we 
yet  make  shorter  by  our  inconstancy.  If  an  enemy  were  at 
our  heels,  what  haste  should  we  make  ! but  death  is  so,  and 
yet  we  never  mind  it.  There  is  no  venturing  of  tender  and 
easy  natures  among  the  people,  for  it  is  odds  that  they  will 
go  over  to  the  major  party.  It  would,  perhaps,  shake  the 
constancy  of  Socrates,  Cato,  Lselius,  or  any  of  us  all,  even 
when  our  resolutions  are  at  the  height,  to  stand  the  shock 
uf  vice  that  presses  upon  us  with  a kind  of  public  authority. 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


mi 

It  is  a world  of  mischief  that  may  be  done  by  one  single  ex 
ample  of  avarice  or  luxury.  One  voluptuous  palate  makes 
a great  many.  A wealthy  neighbor  stirs  up  envy,  and  a 
fleering  companion  moves  ill-nature  wherever  he  comes. 
What  will  become  of  those  people  then  that  expose  them- 
selves to  a popular  violence  1 which  is  ill  both  ways ; either 
if  they  comply  with  the  wicked,  because  they  are  many,  or 
quarrel  with  the  multitude  because  they  are  not  principled 
alike.  The  best  way  is  to  retire,  and  associate  only  with 
those  that  may  be  the  better  for  us,  and  we  for  them.  These 
respects  are  mutual ; for  while  we  teach,  we  learn.  To  deal 
freely,  I dare  not  trust  myself  in  the  hands  of  much  com- 
pany : I never  go  abroad  that  I come  home  again  the  same 
man  I went  out.  Something  or  other  that  I had  put  in  order 
is  discomposed;  some  passion  that  I had  subdued  gets  head 
again ; and  it  is  just  with  our  minds  as  it  is  after  a long  in- 
disposition with  our  bodies;  we  are’  grown  so  tender,  that 
the  least  breath  of  air  exposes  us  to  a relapse.  And  it  is  no 
wonder  if  a numerous  conversation  be  dangerous,  where 
there  is  scarce  any  single  man  but  by  his  discourse,  example, 
or  behavior,  does  either  recommend  to  us,  or  imprint  in  us, 
or,  by  a kind  of  contagion,  insensibly  infect  us  with  one  vice 
or  other;  and  the  more  people  the  greater  is  the  peril. 
Especially  let  us  have  a care  of  public  spectacles  where 
wickedness  insinuates  itself  with  pleasure;  and,  above  all 
others,  let  us  avoid  spectacles  of  cruelty  and  blood  ; and 
have  nothing  to  do  with  those  that  are  perpetually  whining 
and  complaining;  there  maybe  faith  and  kindness  there,  but 
no  peace.  People  that  are  either  sad  or  fearful,  we  do 
commonly,  for  their  own  sakes,  set  a guard  upon  them,  for 
fear  they  should  make  an  ill  use  of  being  alone ; especially 
the  imprudent,  who  are  still  contriving  of  mischief,  either 
for  others  or  for  themselves,  in  cherishing  their  lusts,  or 
forming  their  designs.  So  much  for  the  choice  of  a com- 
panion;  we  shall  flow  proceed  to  that  of  a friend. 


164 


SENECA  OF  A HAl'Py  LIFE. 


CHAP.  XVIII. 

The  blessings  of  friendship. 

Of  all  felicities,  the  most  charming  is  that  of  n firm  and 
gentle  friendship.  It  sweetens  all  our  cares,  dispels  our 
sorrows,  and  counsels  us  in  all  extremities.  Nay,  if  there 
were  no  other  comfort  in  it  than  the  bare  exercise  of  so 
generous  a virtue,  even  for  that  single  reason,  a man  would 
not  be  without  it.  Beside,  that  it  is  a sovereign  antidote 
against  all  calamities,  even  against  the  fear  of  death  itself. 

But  we  are  not  yet  to  number  our  friends  by  the  visits 
Every  man  is  made  us;  and  to  confound  the  decen- 

not  a friend  cies  of  ceremony  and  commerce  with  the  of- 
that  makes  us  fices  of  United  affections.  Caius  Gracchus,  and 
after  him  Livius  Drusus,  were  the  men  that 
introduced  among  the  Romans  the  fashion  of  separating  their 
visitants ; some  were  taken  into  their  closet,  others  were 
only  admitted  into  the  antechamber : and  some,  again,  were 
fain  to  wait  in  the  hall  perhaps,  or  in  the  court.  So  that  they 
had  their their  second,  and  their  third  rate  friends; 
but  none  of  them  true : only  they  are  called  so  in  course,  as 
we  salute  strangers  with  some  title  or  other  of  respect  at  a 
venture.  There  is  no  depending  upon  those  men  that  only 
take  their  compliment  in  their  turn,  and  rather  slip  through 
the  door  than  enter  at  it.  He  will  find  himself  in  a great 
mistake,  that  either  seeks  for  a friend  in  a palace,  or  tries 
him  at  a feast. 

The  great  difficulty  rests  in  the  choice  of  him  ; that  is  to 

The  choice  of  virtUOUS,  for 

a friend.  is  contagious,  and  there  is  no  trusting  of 

the  sound  and  the  sick  together;  and  he  ought 
to  be  a wise  man  too,  if  a body  knew  where  to  find  him  ; but 
in  this  case,  he  that  is  least  ill  is  best,  and  the  highest  de- 
gree of  human  prudence  is  only  the  most  venial  folly.  Thai 
friendship  where  men’s  affections  are  cemented  by  an  equal 
and  by  a common  love  of  goodness,  it  is  not  either  hope  oi 
fear,  or  any  private  interest,  that  can  ever  dissolve  it:  but 
we  carry  it  with  us  to  our  graves,  and  lay  down  our  lives 
for  it  with  satisfaction.  Paulina’s  good  and  mine  (says  our 
author)  were  so  wrapped  up  together,  that  in  consulting  her 
comfort  I provided  for  my  own ; and  when  I could  not  pre- 
vail upon  her  to  take  less  care  for  me,  she  prevailed  upor 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


in'! 

me  to  take  more  care  for  myself.  Some  people  make  it  a 
question,  whether  is  the  greatest  delight,  the  enjoying  of 
an  old  friendship,  or  the  acquiring  of  a new  one  1 but  it  is 
in  the  preparing  of  a friendship,  and  in  the  possession  of  it, 
as  it  is  with  the  husbandman  in  sowing  and  reaping ; his 
delight  is  the  hope  of  his  labor  in  the  one  case,  and  the  fruit 
of  it  ill  the  other.  My  conversation  lies  among  my  books, 
but  yet  in  the  letters  of  a friend,  methinks  I have  his  com- 
pany ; and  when  I answer  them,  I do  not  only  write,  but 
speak : and,  in  etfect,  a friend  is  an  eye,  a heart,  a tongue, 
a hand,  at  all  distances.  When  friends  see  one  another 
personally,  they  do  not  see  one  another  as  they  do  when 
they  are  divided,  where  the  meditation  dignifies  the  pros- 
pect; but  they  are  effectually  in  a great  measure  absent 
even  when  they  are  present.  Consider  their  nights  apart, 
their  private  studies,  their  separate  employments,  and  neces- 
sary visits;  and  they  are  almost  as  much  together  divided  as 
present.  True  friends  are  the  whole  world  to  one  another; 
and  he  that  is  a friend  to  himself  is  also  a friend  to  mankind. 
Even  in  my  very  studies,  the  greatest  delight  I take  in  what 
I learn  is  the  teaching  of  it  to  others;  for  there  is  no  relish, 
methinks,  in  the  possession  of  any  thing  without  a partner ; 
nay,  if  wisdom  itself  were  offered  me  upon  condition  only 
of  keeping  it  to  myself,  I should  undoubtedly  refuse  it. 

Lucilius  tells  me,  that  he  was  written  to  by  a friend,  but 
cautions  me  withal  not  to  say  any  thing  to  There  must  be 
him  of  the  affair  in  question ; for  he  himself  no  reserves  in 
stands  upon  the  same  guard.  What  is  this  but 
to  affirm  and  to  deny  the  same  thing  in  the  same  breath,  in 
calling  a man  a friend,  whom  we  dare  not  trust  as  our  own 
soul  ] For  there  must  be  no  reserves  in  friendship:  as  much 
deliberation  as  you  please  before  the  league  is  struck,  but 
no  doubtings  or  jealousies  after.  It  is  a preposterous  weak- 
ness to  love  a man  before  we  know  him,  and  not  to  care  for 
him  after.  It  requires  time  to  consider  of  a friendship,  but 
the  resolution  once  taken,  entitles  him  to  my  very  heart. 
I look  upon  iny  thoughts  to  be  as  safe  in  his  breast  as  in  my 
own:  I shall,  without  any  scruple,  make  him  the  confidant 
of  my  most  secret  cares  and  counsels.  It  goes  a great  way 
toward  the  making  of  a man  faithful,  to  let  him  understand 
that  you  think  him  so ; and  he  that  does  but  so  much  as  sus- 
pect that  I will  deceive  him  gives  me  a kind  of  right  to 
cozen  him.  When  I am  with  my  friend,  methinks  I am  alone, 
and  as  much  at  liberty  to  speak  any  thing  as  to  think  it- 


166 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


and  as  our  hearts  are  one,  so  must  be  our  interest  and 
convenience;  for  friendship  lays  all  things  in  common,  and 
nothing  can  be  good  to  the  one  that  is  ill  to  the  other.  I do 
not  speak  of  such  a community  as  to  destroy  one  another’s 
propriety  ; but  as  the  father  and  the  mother  have  two  chil- 
dren, not  one  apiece,  but  each  of  them  two. 

But  let  us  have  a care,  above  all  things,  that  our  kindness 
be  rightfully  founded  ; for  where  there  is  any 
friends'iiip^  Other  invitation  to  friendship  than  the  friend- 
ship itself,  that  friendship  will  be  bought  and 
sold.  He  derogates  from  the  majesty  of  it  that  makes  it 
only  dependent  upon  good  fortune.  It  is  a narrow  considera- 
tion for  a man  to  please  himself  in  the  thought  of  a friend, 
‘ because,”  says  he,  “ I shall  have  one  to  help  me  when  I 
am  sick,  in  prison,  or  in  want.”  A brave  man  should  rather 
take  delight  in  the  contemplation  of  doing  the  same  offices 
for  another.  He  that  loves  a man  for  his  own  sake  is  in  an 
error.  A friendship  of  interest  cannot  last  any  longer  than 
the  interest  itself;  and  this  is  the  reason  that  men  in  pros- 
perity are  so  much  followed,  and  when  a man  goes  down 
the  wind,  nobody  comes  near  him.  Temporary  friends  will 
never  stand  the  test.  One  man  is  forsaken  for  fear  of  profit, 
another  is  betrayed.  It  is  a negotiation,  not  a friendship, 
that  has  an  eye  to  advantages ; only,  through  the  corruption 
of  times,  that  which  was  formerly  a friendship  is  now 
become  a design  upon  a booty  : alter  your  testament,  and 
you  lose  your  friend.  But  my  end  of  friendship  is  to  have 
one  dearer  to  me  than  myself,  and  for  the  saving  of  whose 
life  I would  cheerfully  lay  down  my  own ; taking  this  along 
with  me,  that  only  wise  men  can  be  friends,  others  are  but 
companions ; and  that  there  is  a great  difference  also  betwixt 
love  and  friendship  ; the  one  may  sometimes  do  us  hurt,  the 
other  always  does  us  good,  for  the  one  friend  is  hopeful  to 
another  in  all  cases,  as  well  in  prosperity  as  in  affliction. 
We  receive  comfort,  even  at  a distance,  from  those  we  love, 
but  then  it  is  light  and  faint;  whereas,  presence  and  con- 
versation touch  us  to  the  quick,  especially  if  we  find  the 
man  we  love  to  be  such  a person  as  we  wish, 
ft  is  usual  with  princes  to  reproach  the  living  by  com- 
Theiossofa  mending  the  dead,  and  to  praise  those  people 
frienrt  is  hardly  for  speaking  truth  from  whom  there  is  no 
to  be  repaired,  longer  any  danger  of  hearing  it.  This  is 
Augustus’s  case : he  was  forced  to  banish  his  daughter  Julia 
for  her  common  and  prostituted  impudence ; and  still  upon 


SENECA.  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


1G7 


fresh  informations,  he  was  often  heard  to  say,  “If  Agrippa 
or  Mecenas  had  been  now  alive,  this  would  never  have 
been.”  But  yet  wliere  the  fault  lay  may  be  a question ; 
for  perchance  it  was  his  own,  that  had  rather  complain  for 
the  want  of  them  than  seek  for  others  as  good.  The 
Roman  losses  by  war  and  by  fire,  Augustus  could  quickly 
supply  and  repair ; but  for  the  loss  of  two  friends  he  lamented 
his  whole  life  after.  Xerxes,  (a  vain  and  a foolish  prince) 
when  he  made  war  upon  Greece,  one  told  him,  “It  would 
never  come  to  a battle another,  “ That  he  would  find 
only  empty  cities  and  countries,  for  they  would  not  so  much 
as  stand  the  very  fame  of  his  coming others  soothed  him 
in  the  opinion  of  his  prodigious  numbers ; and  they  all 
concurred  to  puff  him  up  to  his  destruction  ; only  Damara- 
tus advised  him  not  to  depend  too  much  upon  his  numbers, 
for  he  would  rather  find  them  a burden  to  him  than  an  ad- 
vantage : and  that  three  hundred  men  in  the  straits  of  the 
mountains  would  be  sufficient  to  give  a check  to  his  whole 
army ; and  that  such  an  accident  would  undoubtedly  turn 
his  vast  numbers  to  his  confusion.  It  fell  out  afterward  as 
he  foretold,  and  he  had  thanks  for  his  fidelity.  A miserable 
prince,  that  among  so  many  thousand  subjects,  had  but  one 
servant  to  tell  him  truth ! 


CHAP.  XIX. 

He  that  would  be  happy  must  take  an  account  of  his  time. 

In  the  distribution  of  human  life,  we  find  that  a great 
part  of  it  passes  away  in  evil  doing ; a greater  yet  in  doing 
just  nothing  at  all:  and  effectually  the  whole  in  doing 
things  beside  our  business.  Some  hours  we  bestow  upon 
ceVemony  and  servile  attendances ; some  upon  our  pleasures, 
and  the  remainder  runs  at  waste.  What  a deal  of  time  is  it 
that  we  spend  in  hopes  and  fears,  love  and  revenge,  in 
balls,  treats,  making  of  interests,  suing  for  offices,  soliciting 
of  causes,  and  slavish  flatteries  ! The  shortness  of  life,  I 
know,  is  the  common  complaint  both  of  fools  and  philoso- 
phers; as  if  the  time  we  have  were  not  sufficient  for  our 
duties.  But  it  is  with  our  lives  as  with  our  estates,  a good 
husband  makes  a little  go  a great  way ; whereas,  let  tli*? 


Il58  SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 

revenue  of  a prince  fall  into  tlie  hands  of  a prodigal,  it  is 
gone  in  a moment.  So  that  the  time  allotted  us,  if  it  were 
well  employed,  were  abundantly  enough  to  answer  all  the 
ends  and  purposes  of  mankind.  But  we  squander  it  away 
in  avarice,  drink,  sleep,  luxury,  ambition,  fawning  address- 
es, envy,  rambling,  voyages,  impertinent  studies,  change 
of  counsels,  and  the  like ; and  when  our  portion  is  spent,  we 
find  the  want  of  it,  though  we  gave  no  heed  to  it  in  the 
passage : insomuch,  that  we  have  rather  made  our  life  short 
than  found  it  so.  You  shall  have  some  people  perpetually 
playing  with  their  fingers,  whistling,  humming,  and  talking 
to  themselves ; and  others  consume  their  days  in  the  compos- 
ing, hearing,  or  reciting  of  songs  and  lampoons.  How 
many  precious  mornings  do  we  spend  in  consultation  with 
barbers,  tailors,  and  tire-women,  patching  and  painting, 
betwixt  the  comb  and  the  glass ! A council  must  be  called 
upon  every  hair  we  cut ; and  one  curl  amiss  is  as  much  as 
a body’s  life  is  worth.  The  truth  is,  we  are  more  solicitous 
about  our  dress  than  our  manners,  and  about  the  order  of 
our  periwigs  than  that  of  the  government.  At  this  rate, 
let  us  but  discount,  out  of  a life  of  a hundred  years,  that 
time  which  has  been  spent  upon  popular  negotiations,  frivo- 
lous amours,  domestic  brawls,  sauntering  up  and  down  to  no 
purpose,  diseases  that  we  have  brought  upon  ourselves,  and 
this  large  extent  of  life  will  not  amount  perhaps  to  the 
minority  of  another  man.  It  is  a long  being,  but  perchance 
a short  life.  And  what  is  the  reason  of  all  thisl  We  live 
as  we  should  never  die,  and  without  any  thought  of  hu- 
man frailty,  when  yet  the  very  moment  we  bestow  upon 
this  man  or  thing,  may,  peradventure,  be  our  last.  But  the 
greatest  loss  of  time  is  delay  and  expectation,  which  depend 
upon  the  future.  We  let  go  the  present,  which  we  have  in  our 
own  power  ; we  look  forward  to  that  which  depends  upon 
Fortune;  and  so  quit  a certainty  for  an  uncertainty.  We 
should  do  by  time  as  we  do  by  a torrent,  make  use  of  it 
while  we  have  it,  for  it  will  not  last  always. 

The  calamities  of  human  nature  may  be  divided  into  the 
fear  of  death,  and  the  miseries  and  errors  of 
liap^^o  whom  -^"d  it  is  the  great  work  of  mankind 
lift!  is  irksome,  to  master  the  one,  and  to  rectify  the  other; 
ordeathternbie.g^jjj  neither  to  make  life  irksome 

to  us,  nor  death  terrible.  It  should  be  our  care,  before  we 
are  old,  to  live  well,  and  when  we  are  so,  to  die  well ; that 
we  may  expect  our  end  without  sadness : for  it  is  the  duty 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


169 


of  life  to  prepare  ourselves  for  death  ; and  there  is  not  an 
hour  we  live  that  does  not  mind  us  of  our  mortality.  Time 
runs  on,  and  all  things  have  their  fate,  though  it  lies  in 
the  dark.  The  period  is  certain  to  nature,  but  what  am  I 
the  better  for  it  if  it  be  not  so  to  mel  We  propound 
travels,  arms,  adventures,  without  ever  considering  that 
death  lies  in  the  way.  Our  term  is  set,  and  none  of  us 
know  how  near  it  is;  but  we  are  all  of  us  agreed,  that  the 
decree  is  unchangeable.  Why  should  we  wonder  to  have 
that  befall  us  to-day  which  might  have  happened  to  us 
any  minute  since  we  were  born  ! Let  us  therefore  live  as 
if  every  moment  were  to  be  our  last;  and  set  our  ac- 
counts right  every  day  that  passes  over  our  heads.  We 
are  not  ready  for  death,  and  therefore  we  fear  it,  because 
we  do  not  know  what  will  become  of  us  when  we  are 
gone ; and  that  consideration  strikes  us  with  an  inexplicable 
terror.  The  way  to  avoid  this  distraction  is  to  contract 
our  business  and  our  thoughts:  when  the  mind  is  once 
settled,  a day  or  an  age  is  all  one  to  us ; and  the  series  of 
time,  which  is  now  our  trouble,  will  be  then  our  delight: 
for  he  that  is  steadily  resolved  against  all  uncertainties, 
shall  never  be  disturbed  with  the  variety  of  them.  Let  us 
make  haste,  therefore,  to  live,  since  every  day  to  a wise 
man  is  a new  life:  for  he  has  done  his  business  the  day 
before,  and  so  prepared  himself  for  the  next,  that  if  it  be 
not  his  last,  he  knows  yet  that  it  might  have  been  so.  No 
man  enjoys  the  true  taste  of  life,  but  he  that  is  willing  and 
ready  to  quit  it. 

I'be  wit  of  man  is  not  able  to  express  the  blindness  of 
human  folly  in  taking  so  much  more  care  of 
our  fortunes,  our  houses,  and  our  money,  care 
than  we  do  of  our  lives : every  body  breaks  tunes  than  of 
in  upon  the  one  gratis,  but  we  betake  our- 
selves  to  fire  and  sword  if  any  man  invades  the  other 
There  is  no  dividing  in  the  case  of  patrimony,  but  people 
share  our  time  with  us  at  pleasure:  so  profuse  are  we  of 
that  only  thing  whereof  we  may  be  honestly  covetous.  It 
is  a common  practice  to  ask  an  hour  or  two  of  a friend  for 
such  or  such  a business,  and  it  is  as  easily  granted  ; both 
parties  only  considering  the  occasion,  and  not  the  thin" 
^ itself.  They  never  put  time  to  account,  which  is  the  most 
valuable  of  all  precious  things  : but  because  they  do  not  see 
it,  they  reckon  upon  it  as  nothing ; and  yet  these  easy  men 
when  they  come  to  die,  would  give  the  whole  world  for  those 
P 


170 


SENECA  Or  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


hours  again  which  they  so  inconsiderately  cast  away  before; 
but  there  is  no  recovering  of  tliem.  If  they  could  number 
their  days  that  are  yet  to  come  as  they  can  those  that  are 
already  past,  how  would  those  very  people  tremble  at  the 
apprehension  of  death,  though  a hundred  years  hence,  that 
never  so  much  as  think  of  it  at  present,  though  they  know 
not  but  it  may  take  them  away  the  next  immediate  minute! 
It  is  an  usual  saying,  “ I would  give  my  life  for  such  or  such 
a friend,”  when,  at  the  same  time,  we  do  give  it  without  so 
much  as  thinking  of  it ; nay,  when  that  friend  is  never  the 
better  for  it,  and  we  ourselves  the  worse.  Our  time  is  set, 
and  day  and  night  we  travel  on:  there  is  no  baiting  by  the 
way,  and  it  is  not  in  the  power  of  either  prince  or  people  to 
prolong  it.  Such  is  the  love  of  life,  that  even  those  decrepit 
dotards,  that  have  lost  the  use  of  it  will  yet  beg  the  continu- 
ance of  it,  and  make  themselves  younger  than  they  are,  as  if 
they  could  cozen  even  Fate  itself.  When  they  fall  sick, 
what  promises  of  amendment  if  they  escape  that  bout ! what 
exclamations  against  the  folly  of  their  misspent  time  ! and 
yet  if  they  recover,  they  relapse.  No  man  takes  care  to  live 
well,  but  long;  when  yet  it  is  in  every  body’s  power  to  do 
the  former,  and  in  no  man’s  to  do  the  latter.  VVe  consume 
our  lives  in  providing  the  very  instruments  of  life,  and  govern 
ourselves  still  with  a regard  to  the  future ; so  that  we  do  not 
properly  live,  but  we  are  about  to  live.  How  great  a shame 
is  it  to  be  laying  new  foundations  of  life  at  our  last  gasp, 
and  for  an  old  man  (that  can  only  prove  his  age  by  his 
beard)  with  one  foot  in  the  grave,  to  go  to  school  again  ! 
While  we  are  young,  we  may  learn ; our  minds  are  tracta- 
ble, and  our  bodies  fit  for  labor  and  study;  but  when  age 
comes  on,  we  are  seized  with  languor  and  sloth,  afflicted 
with  diseases,  and  at  last  we  leave  the  world  as  ignorant  as 
wm  came  into  it:  only  we  die  worse  than  we  were  born; 
which  is  none  of  Nature’s  fault,  but  ours;  for  our  fears,  sus- 
picions, perfidy,  &c.  are  from  ourselves.  I wish  with  all 
my  soul  that  I had  thought  of  my  end  sooner,  but  I must 
make  the  more  haste  now,  and  spur  on,  like  those  that  set 
out  late  upon  a journey ; it  will  be  better  to  learn  late  than 
not  at  all,  though  it  be  but  only  to  instruct  me  how  I may 
'eave  the  stage  with  honor. 

In- the  division  of  life,  there  is  time  ‘present,  past,  and  ta 
iuriie.  What  we  do  is  short,  what  we  shall  do  present 
is  doubtful,  but  what  we  have  done  is  certain,  past,  and  to’ 
and  out  of  the  power  of  Fortune.  The  passage  come. 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


171 


of  time  is  wonderfully  quick,  and  a man  must  look  back- 
ward to  see  it:  and,  in  that  retrospect,  he  has  all  past  ages 
at  a view:  but  the  present  gives  us  the  slip  unperceived. 
It  is  but  a moment  that  we  live,  and  yet  we  are  dividing  it 
into  childhood,  youth,  man's  estate,  and  old  age,  all  which 
degrees  we  bring  into  that  narrow  compass.  If  we  do  not 
watch,  we  lose  our  opportunities ; if  we  do  not  make  haste, 
we  are  left  behind ; our  best  hours  escape  us,  the  worst  are 
to  come.  The  purest  part  of  our  life  runs  first,  and  leaves 
only  the  dregs  at  the  bottom  ; and  “ that  time,  which  is  good 
for  nothing  else,  wo  dedicate  to  virtue  and  only  propound 
to  begin  to  live  at  an  age  that  very  few  people  arrive  at. 
What  greater  folly  can  there  be  in  the  world  than  this  loss 
of  time,  the  future  being  so  uncertain,  and  the  damages  so 
vreparable  1 If  death  *be  necessary,  why  should  any  man 
fear  it  1 and  if  the  time  of  it  be  uncertain,  why  should  not 
we  always  expect  it  1 We  should  therefore  first  prepare 
ourselves  by  a virtuous  life  against  the  dread  of  an  inevitable 
eath  ; and  it  is  not  for  us  to  put  off  being  good  until  such 
r such  a business  is  over,  for  one  business  draws  on  an- 
ther, and  we  do  as  good  as  sow  it,  one  grain  produces  more. 
It  is  not  enough  to  philosophize  when  we  have  nothing  else 
to  do,  but  we  must  attend  wisdom  even  to  the  neglect  of 
all  things  else ; for  we  are  so  far  from  having  time  to  spare, 
that  the  age  of  the  world  would  be  yet  too  narrow  for  our 
business ; nor  is  it  sufficient  not  to  omit  it,  but  we  must  not 
so  much  as  intermit  it. 

There  is  nothing  that  we  can  properly  call  our  own  but 
ur  time,  and  yet  every  body  fools  us  out  of  it -yve  can  call  no- 
that  has  a mind  to  it.  If  a man  borrows  a thing  our  own 
paltry  sum  of  money,  there  must  be  bonds  bm  our  time, 
and  securities,  and  every  common  civility  is  presently 
charged  upon  account;  but  he  that  has  my  time,  thinks  he 
owes  me  nothing  for  it,  though  it  be  a debt  that  gratitude 
itself  can  never  repay..  I cannot  call  any  man  poor  that  has 
enough  still  left,  be  it  never  so  little:  it  is  good  advice  ye 
to  those  that  have  the  world  before  them,  to  play  the  good 
husbands  betimes,  for  it  is  too  late  to  spare  at  the  bottom, 
when  all  is  drawn  out  to  the  lees.  He  that  takes  away  a 
day  from  me,  takes  away  what  iie  can  never  restore  me. 
But  our  time  is  either  forced  a\vay  from  us,  or  stolen  from 
us,  or  lost ; of  which  the  last  is  the  foulest  miscarriage.  It 
is  in  life  as  in  a journey;  a book  or  a companion  brinos  us 
U our  lodging  before  w’e  thought  we  were  half-way.  Upon 


172 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


the  whole  matter  we  consume  ourselves  one  upon  another, 
without  any  regard  at  all  to  our  own  particular.  I do  not 
speak  of  such  as  live  in  notorious  scandal,  but  even  those 
men  themselves,  whom  the  world  pronounces  happy,  are 
smothered  in  their  felicities,  servants  to  their  professions 
and  clients,  and  drowned  in  their  lusts.  We  are  apt  to  corn- 
plain  of  the  haughtiness  of  great  men,  when  yet  there  is 
hardly  any  of  them  all  so  proud  but  that,  at  some  time  or 
other,  a man  may  yet  have  access  to  him,  and  perhaps  a 
good  word  or  look  into  the  bargain.  Why  do  we  not  rather 
complain  of  ourselves,  for  being  of  all  others,  even  to  our- 
selves, the  most  deaf  and  inaccessible! 

Company  and  business  are  great  devourers  of  time,  and 
Company  and  ''*ces  destroy  our  lives  as  well  as  our  for- 
bnsiness  are  tunes.  The  present  is-but  a moment,  and  por- 
petually  in  flux;  the  time  past,  we  call  to  mind 
when  we  please,  and  it  will  abide  the  exami- 
ation  and  inspection.  But  the  busy  man  has  not  leisure 
to  look  back,  or  if  he  has,  it  is  an  unpleasant  thing  to  reflect 
upon  a life  to  be  repented  of,  whereas  the  conscience  of  a 
good  life  puts  a man  into  a secure  and  perpetual  possession 
of  a felicity  never  to  be  disturbed  or  taken  away:  but  he 
that  has  led  a wicked  life  is  afraid  of  his  own  memory ; and, 
in  the  review  of  himself,  he  finds  only  appetite,  avarice,  or 
ambition,  instead  of  virtue.  But  still  he  that  is  not  at  leisure 
many  times  to  live,  must,  when  his  fate  comes,  whether  he 
will  or  not,  be  at  leisure  to  die.  Alas!  what  is  timeto 
eternity ! the  age  of  a man  to  the  age  of  the  world  ! And 
how  much  of  this  little  do  we  spend  in  fears,  anxieties,  tears, 
childhood  ! nay,  we  sleep  away  the  one  half  How  great  a 
part  of  it  runs  away  in  luxury  and  excess : the  ranging  of  our 
guests,  our  servants,  and  our  dishes  ! As  if  we  were  to  eat 
and  drink  not  for  satiety,  hut  ambition.  The  nights  may 
well  seem  short  that  are  so  dear  bought,  and  bestowed  upon 
wine  and  women  ; the  day  is  lost  in  expectation  of  the  night, 
and  the  night  in  the  apprehension  of  the  morning.  There 
is  a terror  in  our  very  pleasures ; and  this  vexatious  thought 
in  the  very  height  of  them,  that  they  will  not  last  always: 
which  is  a canker  in  the  delights,  even  of  the  greatest  and 
the  most  fortunate  of  men. 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


173 


CHAP.  XX. 


Happy  is  the  man  that  may  choose  his  own  business. 

Oh  the  blessings  of  privacy  and  leisure  ! The  wish  of  the 
powerful  and  eminent,  but  the  privilege  only  of  inferiors ; 
who  are  the  only  people  that  live  to  themselves:  nay,  the 
very  thought  and  hope  of  it  is  a consolation,  even  in  the 
middle  of  all  the  tumults  and  hazards  that  attend  greatness. 
It  was  Augustus’s  prayer,  that  he  might  live  to  retire  and 
deliver  himself  from  public  business:  his  discourses  were 
still  pointing  that  way,  and  the  highest  felicity  which  this 
mighty  prince  had  in  prospect,  was  the  divesting  himself 
of  that  illustrious  state,  which,  how  glorious  soever  in  show, 
had  at  the  bottom  of  it  only  an.xiety  and  care.  But  it  is  one 
thing  to  retire  for  pleasure,  and  another  thing  for  virtue, 
which  must  be  active  even  in  that  retreat,  and  give  proof 
of  what  it  has  learned : for  a good  and  a wise  man  does  in 
privacy  consult  the  well-being  of  posterity.  Zeiio  and 
Chrysippus  did  greater  things  in  their  studies  than  if  they 
had  led  armies,  borne  offices,  or  given  laws;  which  in  truth 
they  did,  not  to  one  city  alone,  but  to  all  mankind  : their 
quiet  contributed  more  to  the  common  benefit  than  the 
sweat  and  labor  of  other  people.  That  retreat  is  not  worth 
the  while  which  does  not  afford  a man  greater  and  nobler 
work  than  business.  There  is  no  slavish  attendance  upon 
great  officers,  no  canvassing  for  places,  no  making  of  parties, 
no  disappointments  in  my  pretension  to  this  charge,  to  that 
egiment,  or  to  such  or  such  a title,  no  envy  of  any  man’s 
favor  or  fortune ; but  a calm  enjoyment  of  the  genera, 
bounties  of  Providence  in  company  with  a good  conscience 
A wise  man  is  never  so  busy  as  in  the  solitary  contempla 
tion  of  God  and  the  works  of  Nature.  He  withdraws  him 
self  to  attend  the  service  of  future  ages : and  those  counsels 
which  he  finds  salutary  to  himself,  he  commits  to  writing 
for  the  good  of  after-times,  as  we  do  the  receipts  of  sove- 
reign antidotes  or  balsams.  He  that  is  well  employed  in 
his  study,  though  he  may  seem  to  do  nothing  at  all,  does 
the  greatest  things  yet  of  all  others,  in  affairs  both  human 
and  divine.  To  supply  a friend  with  a sum  of  money,  or 
give  my  voice  for  an  office,  these  are  only  private  and  nar' 
P 2 


174 


SEXECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


ticular  obligations : but  he  that  lays  down  precepts  for  the 
governing  of  our  lives  and  the  moderating  of  our  passions, 
obliges  human  nature  not  only  in  the  present,  but  in  all 
succeeding  generations. 

He  tliat  would  be  at  quiet,  let  him  repair  to  his  philoso- 
phy, a study  that  has  credit  with  all  sorts  of 
^qu'iet  study. eloquence  of  the  bar,  or  whatso- 
ever else  addresses  to  the  people,  is  never 
without  enemies;  but  philosopliy  minds  its  own  business, 
and  even  the  worst  have  an  esteem  for  it.  There  can  never 
be  such  a conspiracy  against  virtue,  the  world  can  never 
be  so  wicked,  but  the  very  name  of  a philosopher  shall  still 
continue  venerable  and  sacred.  And  yet  philosophy  itself 
must  he  handled  modestly  and  with  caution.  But  what 
shall  we  say  of  Cato  then,  for  his  meddling  in  the  broil  of 
a civil  war,  and  interposing  himself  in  tlie  quarrel  betwixt 
two  enraged  princes  1 He  that,  when  Rome  was  split  into 
two  factions  betwixt  Pompey  and  Caesar,  declared  himself 
against  6ot/t.  I speak  this  of  Cato’s  last  part;  for  in  his  former 
time  the  commonwealth  was  made  unfit  for  a wise  man’s 
administration.  All  he  could  do  then  was  but  bawling  and 
beating  of  the  air:  one  while  he  was  lugged  and  tumbled 
by  the  rabble,  spit  upon  and  dragged  out  of  the  forum,  and 
then  again  hurried  out  of  the  senate-house  to  prison.  There 
are  some  things  which  we  propound  originally,  and 
others  that  fall  in  as  accessory  to  another  proposition.  If  a 
wise  man  retire,  it  is  no  matter  whetlier  he  does  it  because 
the  commonwealth  was  wanting  to  him,  or  because  he  was 
wanting  to  it.  But  to  what  republic  shall  a man  betake 
himself!  Not  to  Athens,  where  Socrates  was  condemned, 
and  whence  Aristotle  fled,  for  fear  he  should  have  been  con- 
demned too,  and  where  virtue  was  oppressed  by  envy:  not 
to  Carthage,  where  there  was  nothing  but  tyranny,  injustice, 
cruelty,  and  ingratitude.  There  is  scarce  any  government 
to  be  found  that  will  either  endure  a wise  man,  or  which  a 
wise  man  will  endure  ; so  that  privacy  is  made  necessary, 
because  the  only  thing  which  is  better  is  nowhere  to  bo 
\ad.  A man  may  commend  navigation,  and  yet  caution  us 
against  those  seas  that  are  troublesome  and  dangerous:  so 
that  he  does  as  good  as  command  me  not  to  weigh  anchor 
that  commends  sailing  only  upon  these  terms.  He  that  is 
» slave  to  business  is  the  most  wretched  of  slaves. 

“But  how  shall  I get  myself  at  liberty  1 We  can  run 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPA  LIFE.  17^ 

any  hazards  for  money:  take  any  ]>ains  for  ^iijerty  is  to  oe 
honor;  and  why  do  we  not  venture  something  pui chased  at 
also  for  leisure  and  freedom  1 without  which 
we  must  expect  to  live  and  die  in  a tumult : for  so  long  as 
we  live  in  public,  business  breaks  in  upon  us,  as  one  billow 
drives  on  another;  and  there  is  no  avoiding  it  with  either 
modesty  or  quiet.  It  is  a kind  of  whirlpool,  that  sucks  a 
man  in,  and  he  can  never  disengage  himself.  A man  of 
business  cannot  in  truth  be  said  to  live,  and  not  one  of  a 
thousand  understands  how  do  to  it:  for  how  to  live,  and  how 
to  die,  is  the  lesson  of  every  moment  of  our  lives : all  other 
arts  have  their  masters.  As  a busy  life  is  always  a misera- 
ble life,  so  it  is  the  greatest  of  all  miseries  to  be  perpetually 
employed  upon  other  people's  business ; for  to  sleep,  to  eat, 
to  drink,  at  their  hour;  to  walk  their  pace,  and  to  love  and 
hate  as  they  do,  is  the  vilest  of  servitudes.  Now,  though 
business  must  be  quitted,  let  it  not  be  done  unseasonably  ; 
the  longer  we  defer  it,  the  more  we  endanger  our  liberty ; 
and  yet  we  must  no  more  fly  before  the  time  than  linger  when 
the  time  comes : or,  however,  we  must  not  love  business 
for  business’  sake,  nor  indeed  do  we,  but  for  the  profit  that 
goes  along  with  it:  for  we  love  the  reward  of  misery, 
though  we  hate  the  misery  itself  Many  people,  I know, 
seek  business  without  choosing  it,  and  they  are  even  weary 
of  their  lives  without  it  for  want  of  entertainment  in  their 
own  thoughts ; the  hours  are  long  and  hateful  to  them 
when  they  are  alone,  and  they  seem  as  short  on  the  other 
side  in  their  debauches.  When  they  are  no  longer  candi- 
dates, they  are  suffragants ; when  they  give  over  other 
people’s  business,  they  do  their  own ; and  pretend  business, 
but  they  make  it,  and  value  themselves  upon  being  thought 
men  of  employment.  Liberty  is  the  thing  which  they  are 
perpetually  a-wishing,  and  never  come  to  obtain  : a thing 
never  to  be  bought  nor  sold,  but  a man  must  ask  it  of  him- 
self, and  give  it  to  himself  He  that  has  given  proof  of  his 
virtue  in  public,  should  do  well  to  make  a trial  of  it  in 
private  also.  It  is  not  that  solitude,  or  a country  life,  teaches 
innocence  or  frugality;  but  vice  falls  of  itself  without  wit- 
nesses and  spectators,  for  the  thing  it  designs  is  to  be  taken 
notice  of  Did  ever  any  man  put  on  rich  clothes  not  to  be 
seen  1 or  spread  the  pomp  of  his  luxury  where  nobody  was 
to  take  notice  of  it  ? If  it  were  not  for  admirers  arid  spec- 
tators 'iiere  would  be  no  temptations  to  excess : the  very 


176 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


keeping'  of  us  from  exposing  them  cures  us  of  desiring  them, 
for  vanity  and  intemperance  arc  fed  with  ostentation. 

lie  that  lias  lived  at  sea  in  a storm,  let  him  retire  and  die 
Several  people  haven ; but  let  his  retreat  be  without 

withdraw  for  ostentation,  and  wherein  he  may  enjoy  him- 
severaiends.  self  with  a good  conscience,  without  the  want, 
the  fear,  the  hatred,  or  the  desire,  of  any  thing;  not  out 
of  a malevolent  detestation  of  matikind,  but  for  satisfaction 
and  repose.  He  that  shuns  both  business  and  men,  either 
out  of  envy,  or  any  other  discontent,  his  retreat  is  but  to 
the  life  of  a mole : nor  does  he  live  to  himself,  as  a wise 
man  does,  but  to  his  bed,  his  belly,  and  his  lusts.  Many 
people  seem  to  retire  out  of  a weariness  of  public  affairs, 
and  the  trouble  of  disappointments;  and  yet  ambition  finds 
them  out  even  in  that  recess  into  which  fear  and  weariness 
had  cast  them ; and  so  does  luxury,  pride,  and  most  of 
the  distempers  of  a public  life.  There  are  many  that  lie 
close,  not  that  they  may  live  securely,  but  that  they  may 
transgress  more  privately;  it  is  their  conscience,  not  their 
states,  that  makes  them  keep  a porter  ; for  they  live  at  such 
a rate,  that  to  be  seen  before  they  be  aware  is  to  be 
detected.  Crates  saw  a young  man  walking  by  himself; 
“Have  a care,”  says  he  “of  lewd  company.”  Some  men  are 
busy  in  idleness,  and  make  peace  more  laborious  and  trou- 
blesome than  war ; nay,  and  more  wicked  too,  when  they 
bestow  it  upon  such  lusts,  and  other  vices,  which  even  the 
license  of  a military  life  would  not  endure.  We  cannot 
call  these  people  men  of  leisure  that  are  wholly  taken  up 
with  their  pleasures.  A troublesome  life  is  much  to  be 
preferred  before  a slothful  one ; and  it  is  a strange  thing, 
methinks,  that  any  man  should  fear  death  that  has  buried 
himself  alive  ; as  privacy  without  letters  is  but  the  burying 
of  a man  quick. 

There  are  some  that  make  a boast  of  their  retreat,  which 
is  but  a kind  of  lazy  ambition  : they  retire  to 
^o'be  talked  people  talk  of  them,  whereas  I would 

rather  withdraw  to  speak  to  myself  And 
what  shall  that  be,  but  that  which  we  are  apt  to  speak 
of  one  another]  I will  speak  ill  of  myself;  I will  examine, 
accuse,  and  punish  my  infirmities.  I have  no  design  to  be 
cried  up  for  a great  man,  that  has  renounced  the  world 
in  a contempt  of  the  vanity  and  madness  of  human  life ; I 
blame  nobody  but  myself  and  I address  only  to  myself. 
He  that  comes  to  me  for  help  is  mistaken,  for  I am  not  a 


SENECA  OF  A HAFFY  LIFE. 


177 


physician,  but  a patient : and  I shall  be  well  enough  con- 
tent to  have  it  said,  when  any  man  leaves  me,  “ I took  him 
for  a happy  and  a learned  man,  and  truly  I find  no  such 
matter.”  I had  rather  have  my  retreat  pardoned  than 
envied.  There  are  some  creatures  that  confound  their  foot- 
ing about  their  dens,  that  they  may  not  be  found  out,  and 
so  should  a wise  man  in  the  case  of  his  retirement.  When 
the  door  is  open,  the  thief  passes  it  by,  as  not  worth  his 
while ; but  when  it  is  bolted  and  sealed,  it  is  a temptation 
for  people  to  be  prying.  To  have  it  said,  “ that  such  a one 
is  never  out  of  his  study ; and  sees  nobody,”  &c.  this  fur- 
nishes matter  for  discourse.  He  that  makes  his  retirement 
too  strict  and  severe  does  as  good  as  call  company  to  take 
notice  of  it. 

Every  man  knows  his  own  constitution.  One  eases  his 
stomach  by  vomit,  another  supports  it  with  philosophy  re- 
good nourishment : he  that  has  the  gout  for-  quires  privacy 
bears  wine  and  bathing,  and  every  man  ap-  freedom, 
plies  to  the  part  that  is  most  infirm.  He  that  shows  a gouty 
foot,  a lame  hand,  or  contracted  nerves,  shall  be  permitted 
to  lie  still  and  attend  his  cure ; and  why  not  so  in  the 
vices  of  his  mindl  We  must  discharge  all  impediments, 
and  make  way  for  philosophy,  as  a study  inconsistent  with 
common  business.  To  all  other  things  we  must  deny  our- 
selves openly  and  frankly  ; when  we  are  sick  refuse  visits, 
keep  ourselves  close,  and  lay  aside  all  public  cares;  and 
shall  we  not  do  as  much  when  we  philosophize  1 Business 
is  the  drudgery  of  the  world,  and  only  fit  for  slaves,  but  con- 
templation is  the  work  of  wise  men.  Not  but  that  solitude 
and  company  may  be  allowed  to  take  their  turns ; the  one 
creates  in  us  the  love  of  mankind,  the  other  that  of  our- 
selves ; solitude  relieves  us  when  we  are  sick  of  company, 
and  conversation  when  we  are  weary  of  being  alone ; so. 
that  the  one  cures  the  other.  “There  is  no  man,”  in  fine, 
“so  miserable  as  he  that  is  at  a loss  how  to  spend  his  time.” 
He  is  restless  in  his  thoughts,  unsteady  in  his  counsels, 
dissatisfied  with  the  present,  solicitous  for  the  future; 
whereas  he  that  prudently  computes  his  hours  and  his 
business,  does  not  only  fortify  himself  against  the  common 
accidents  of  life,  but  improves  the  most  rigorous  dispensa- 
tions of  Providence  to  his  comfort,  and  stands  firm  under 
all  the  trials  of  human  weakness. 


178 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


CHAP.  XXL 

The  contempt  of  death  makes  all  the  miseries  of  life  easy 
to  us. 

It  is  a hard  task  to  master  the  natural  desire  of  life  by  a 
philosophical  contempt  of  death,  and  to  convince  the  world 
that  there  is  no  hurt  in  it,  and  crush  an  opinion  that  was 
hroug-ht  up  with  us  from  our  cradles.  What  helpl  what  en- 
couragement! what  shall  we  say  to  human  frailty,  to  carry 
it  fearless  through  the  fury  of  flames,  and  upon  the  points  of 
swords!  what  rhetoric  shall  we  use  to  bear  down  the  univer- 
sal consent  of  people  to  so  dangerous  an  error!  The  cap- 
tious and  superfine  subtleties  of  the  schools  will  never  do  the 
work:  these  speak  many  things  sharp,  but  utterly  unneces- 
sary, and  void  of  effect.  The  truth  of  it  is,  there  is  but  one 
chain  that  holds  all  the  world  in  bondage,  and  that  is  the 
love  of  life.  It  is  not  that  I propound  the  making  of  death 
so  indifferent  to  us,  as  it  is,  whether  a man’s  hairs  be  even  or 
odd  ; for  what  with  self-love,  and  an  implanted  desire  in 
every  thing  of  preserving  itself,  and  a long  acquaintance  be- 
twixt the  soul  and  body,  friends  may  be  loth  to  part,  and 
death  may  carry  an  appearance  of  evil,  though  in  truth  it  is 
itself  no  evil  at  all.  Beside,  that  we  are  to  go  to  a strange 
place  in  the  dark,  and  under  great  uncertainties  of  our  fu- 
ture state;  so  that  people  die  in  terror,  because  they  do 
not  know  whither  they  are  to  go,  and  they  are  apt  to  fancy 
the  worst  of  what  they  do  not  understand : these  thoughts 
are  indeed  sufficient  to  startle  a man  of  great  resolution 
without  a wonderful  support  from  above.  And,  moreover, 
our  natural  scruples  and  infirmities  are  assisted  by  the  w’its 
and  fancies  of  all  ages,  in  their  infamous  and  horrid  descrip- 
tion of  another  world  : nay,  taking  it  for  granted  that  there 
will  be  no  reward  and  punishment,  they  are  yet  more 
afraid  of  an  annihilation  than  of  hell  itself. 

But  what  is  it  we  fear ! “ Oh  ! it  is  a terrible  thing  to 
die.”  Well;  and  is  it  not  better  once  to  suffer 
'fear d”ath.*°  it,  than  always  to  fear  it!  The  earth  itself 
suffers  both  with  me,  and  before  me.  How 
many  islands  are  swallowed  up  in  the  sea  I how  many  towns 
do  W6  sail  over!  nay,  how  many  nations  are  wholly  lost, 
cither  by  inundations  or  earthquakes!  and  shall  I be  afraid 
of  my  little  body ! Why  should  I,  that  am  sure  to  die,  and 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LU’E. 


179 


that  all  other  thing’s  at3  mortal,  be  fearful  of  coming  to  my 
last  gasp  myself  ! It  i.-  the  fear  of  death  that  makes  us  base, 
and  troubles  and  des'roys  the  life  that  we  would  preserve; 
that  aggravates  all  circumstances,  and  makes  them  formi- 
dable. We  depend  but  upon  a flying  moment.  Die  we 
must;  but  when!  what  is  that  to  us!  It  is  the  law  of  Na- 
ture, the  tribute  of  mortals,  and  the  remedy  of  all  evils.  It 
is  only  the  disguise  that  affrights  us;  as  children  that  are 
terrified  with  a vizor.  Take  away  the  instruments  of  death, 
the  fire,  the  ax,  the  guards,  the  executioners,  the  whips,  and 
the  racks;  take  away  the  pomp,  I say,  and  the  circum- 
stances that  accompany  it,  and  death  is  no  more  than  what 
my  slave  yesterday  contemned;  the  pain  is  nothing  to  a fit 
of  the  stone ; if  it  be  tolerable,  it  is  not  great ; and  if  in- 
tolerable, it  cannot  last  long.  There  is  nothing  that  Nature 
has  made  necessary  which  is  more  easy  than  death  : we  are 
longer  a-coming  into  the  world  than  going  out  of  it;  and 
there  is  not  any  minute  of  our  lives  wherein  we  may  not 
reasonably  expect  it.  Nay,  it  is  but  a moment’s  work,  the 
parting  of  the  soul  and  body.  What  a shame  is  it  then  to 
stand  in  fear  of  any  thing  so  long  that  is  over  so  soon  ! 

Nor  is  it  any  great  matter  to  overcome  this  fear ; for  we 
have  examples  as  well  of  the  meanest  of  men 
as  of  the  greatest  that  have  done  it.  There  death  is  easily 
was  a fellow  to  be  exposed  upon  the  theatre,  overcome, 
who  in  disda.in  thrust  a stick  down  his  own  throat,  and 
choked  himself;  and  another,  on  the  same  occasion,  pre- 
tended to  nod  upon  the  chariot,  as  if  he  were  asleep,  cast  his 
head  betwixt  the  spokes  of  the  wheel,  and  kept  his  seat  till 
his  neck  was  broken.  Caligula,  upon  a dispute  with  Canius 
Julius;  “Do  not  flatter  yourself,”  says  he,  “for  I have 
given  orders  to  put  you  to  death.”  “I  thank  your  most  gra- 
cious Majesty  for  it,”  says  Canius,  giving  to  understand, 
perhaps,  that  under  his  government  death  was  a mercy:  for 
le  knew  that  Caligula  seldom  failed  of  being  as  good  as  his 
A'ord  in  that  case.  He  was  at  play  when  the  officer  carried 
lim  away  to  his  execution,  and  beckoning  to  the  centurion, 
‘ Pray,”  says  he,  “ will  you  bear  me  witness,  when  I am 
dead  and  gone,  that  I had  tlie  better  of  the  game.”  He  was 
a man  exceedingly  beloved  and  lamented , and,  for  a fare- 
well, after  he  had  preached  moderation  to  his  friends, 
“You,”  saj's  he,  “are  here  disputing  about  the  immortality 
of  the  soul,  and  I am  now  going  to  learn  the  truth  of  it.  it 


180 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


I discover  any  thing  upon  that  point,  you  shall  hear  of  it.” 
Nay,  the  most  timorous  of  creatures,  when  they  see  there  \s> 
no  escaping,  they  oppose  themselves  to  all  dangers ; the  de- 
spair gives  them  courage,  and  the  necessity  overcomes  the 
fear.  Socrates  was  thirty  days  in  prison  after  his  sentence, 
and  had  time  enough  to  have  starved  himself,  and  so  to  have 
prevented  the  poison : but  he  gave  the  world  the  blessing 
of  his  life  as  long  as  he  could,  and  took  that  fatal  draught  in 
the  meditation  and  contempt  of  death.  Marcellinus,  in  a 
deliberation  upon  death,  called  several  of  his  friends  about 
him : one  was  fearful,  and  advised  what  he  himself  would 
have  done  in  the  case;  anotlier  gave  the  counsel  which  he 
thought  Marcellinus  would  like  best;  but  a friend  of  his, 
that  was  a Stoic,  and  a stout  man,  reasoned  the  matter  to 
him  after  this  manner ; Marcellinus  do  not  trouble  yourself, 
as  if  it  were  such  a mighty  business  that  you  have  now  in 
hand;  it  is  nothing  to  live;  all  your  servants  do  it,  nay, 
your  very  beasts  too ; but  to  die  honestly  and  resolutely, 
that  is  a great  point.  Consider  with  yourself  there  is  no- 
thing pleasant  in  life  but  what  you  have  tasted  already,  and 
that  which  is  to  come  is  but  tlie  same  over  again ; and  how 
many  men  are  there  in  the  world  that  rather  choose  to  die 
than  to  suffer  the  nauseous  tediousness  of  the  repetitioni 
Upon  which  discourse  he  fasted  himself  to  death.  It  was 
the  custom  of  Pacuvius  to  solemnize,  in  a kind  of  pageantry, 
every  day  his  own  funeral.  When  he  had  swilled  and 
gormandized  to  a luxurious  and  beastly  excess,  he  was  car- 
ried away  from  supper  to  bed  with  this  song  and  acclama- 
tion, “ He  has  lived,  he  has  lived.”  That  which  he  did  in 
lewdness,  will  become  us  to  do  in  sobriety  and  prudence.  If 
it  shall  please  God  to  add  another  day  to  our  lives,  let  us 
thankfully  receive  it;  but,  however,  it  is  our  happiest  and 
securest  course  so  to  compose  ourselves  to-night,  that  we 
may  have  no  anxious  dependence  on  to-morrow.  “ He  that 
can  say,  I have  lived  this  day,  makes  the  next  clear  again.” 
Death  is  the  worst  that  either  the  severity  of  laws,  or  the 
He  tiiat  despises  cruelty  of  tyrants,  can  impose  upon  us ; and  it 
cieaiii,  fears  is  the  Utmost  extent  of  the  dominion  of  For- 
noiiiing.  tune.  He  that  is  fortified  against  that,  must, 
consequently,  be  superior  to  all  other  difficulties  that  are 
nut  in  the  way  to  it.  Nay,  and  on  some  occasions,  it  requires 
more  courage  to  live  than  to  die.  He  that  is  not  prepared 
liir  death  shall  be  perpetually  troubled,  as  well  with  vain 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


181 


apprehensions,  as  with  real  dangers.  It  is  not  death  itself 
that  is  dreadful,  but  the  fear  of  it  that  goes  before  it.  Wlien 
the  mind  is  under  a consternation,  there  is  no  state  of  life 
that  can  please  us ; for  we  do  not  so  endeavor  to  avoid  mis- 
chiefs as  to  run  away  from  them , and  the  greatest  slaughter 
is  upon  a flying  enemy.  Had  not  a man  better  breathe  out 
his  last  once  for  ail,  than  lie  agonizing  in  pains,  consuming 
by  inches,  losing  of  his  blood  by  drops  1 and  yet  how  many  are 
there  that  are  ready  to  betray  their  country,  and  their  friends, 
and  to  prostitute  their  very  wives  and  daughters,  to  preserve 
a miserable  carcass!  Madmen  and  children  have  no  appre- 
hension of  death ; and  it  were  a shame  that  our  reason 
should  not  do  as  much  toward  our  security  as  their  folly. 
But  the  great  matter  is  to  die  considerately  and  cheerfully 
upon  the  foundation  of  virtue ; for  life  in  itself  is  irksome, 
and  only  eating  and  drinking  in  a circle. 

How  many  are  there  that,  betwixt  the  apprehensions  of 
death  and  the  miseries  of  life,  are  at  their 
wits’ end  what  to  do  with  themselves  1 Where- 
fore  let  us  fortify  ourselves  against  those  ca- 
lamities from  which  the  prince  is  no  more  exempt  than  the 
beggar.  Pompey  the  Great  had  his  head  taken  off  by  a boy 
and  a eunuch,  (young  Ptolemy  and  Photinus.)  Caligula 
commanded  the  tribune  Dsecimus  to  kill  Lepidus ; and  an- 
other tribune  (Chaereus)  did  as  much  for  Caligula.  Never 
was  any  man  so  great  but  he  was  as  liable  to  suffer  mischief 
as  he  was  able  to  do  it.  Has  not  a thief,  or  an  enemy,  your 
throat  at  his  mercy  1 nay,  and  the  meanest  of  servants  has 
the  power  of  life  and  death  over  his  master;  for  whosoever 
contemns  his  own  life  may  be  master  of  another  body's. 
You  will  find  in  story,  that  the  displeasure  of  servants  has 
been  as  fatal  as  that  of  tyrants ; and  what  matters  it  the 
power  of  him  we  fear,  when  the  thing  we  fear  is  in  every 
body’s  power  1 Suppose  I fall  into  the  hands  of  an  enemy, 
and  the  conqueror  condemns  me  to  be  led  in  triumph  ; it  is 
but  carrying  me  thither  whither  I should  have  gone  without 
him,  that  is  to  say,  toward  death,  whither  I have  been 
marching  ever  since  I was  born.  It  is  the  fear  of  our  last 
hour  that  disquiets  all  the  rest.  By  the  justice  of  all  consti- 
tutions, mankind  is  condemned  to  a capital  punishment ; 
now,  how  despicable  would  that  man  appear,  who,  being 
sentenced  to  death  in  common  with  the  whole  world,  should 
only  petition  that  he  might  be  the  last  man  brought  to  the 

Q 


182 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


block  ? Some  men  are  particularly  afraid  of  thunder,  and  yet 
extremely  careless  of  other  and  of  g'reater  dangers ; as  if 
that  were  all  they  have  to  fear  Will  not  a sword,  a stone, 
a fever,  do  the  work  as  well  1 Suppose  the  bolt  should  hit 
us,  it  were  yet  braver  to  die  with  a stroke  than  with  the 
bare  apprehension  of  it:  beside  the  vanity  of  imagining  that 
heaven  and  earth  should  be  put  into  such  a disorder  only 
for  the  death  of  one  man.  A good  and  a brave  man  is  not 
moved  with  lightning,  tempest,  or  earthquakes;  but  per- 
naps  he  would  voluntarily  plunge  himself  into  that  gulf, 
where  otherwise  he  should  only  fall.  The  cutting  of  a corn, 
or  the  swallowing  of  a fly,  is  enough  to  dispatch  a man  ; and 
it  is  no  matter  how  great  that  is  that  brings  me  to  my  death, 
so  long  as  death  itself  is  but  little.  Life  is  a small  matter ; 
but  it  is  a matter  of  importance  to  contemn  it.  Nature  that 
begat  us,  expels  us,  and  a better  and  a safer  place  is  provided 
for  us.  And  what  is  death  but  a ceasing  to  be  what  we 
were  before  1 We  are  kindled  and  put  out:  to  cease  to  be, 
and  not  to  begin  to  be,  is  the  same  thing.  We  die  daily, 
and  while  we  are  growing,  our  life  decreases ; every  mo- 
ment that  passes  takes  away  part  of  it;  all  that  is  past  is 
lost;  nay,  we  divide  with  death  the  very  instant  that  we 
live.  As  the  last  sand  in  the  glass  does  not  measure  the 
hour,  but  finishes  it;  so  the  last  moment  that  we  live  does 
not  make  up  death,  but  concludes.  There  are  some  that 
pray  more  earnestly  for  death  than  we  do  for  life ; but  it  is 
better  to  receive  it  cheerfully  when  it  comes  than  to  hasten 
it  before  the  time. 

“ But  what  is  it  that  we  would  live  any  longer  fori”  Not 
To  what  end  pleasures ; for  those  we  have  tasted 

should  we  covet  over  and  over,  even  to  satiety:  so  that  there 
life?  jg  j)Q  point  of  luxury  that  is  new  to  us.  “But 
a man  would  be  loth  to  leave  his  country  and  his  friends 
behind  him that  is  to  say,  he  would  have  them  go  first ; 
for  that  is  the  least  part  of  his  care.  “ Well;  but  I would 
fain  live  to  do  more  good,  and  discharge  myself  in  the  of- 
fices of  life:”  as  if  to  die  were  not  the  duty  of  every  man 
that  lives.  We  are  loth  to  leave  our  possessions;  and  no 
man  swims  well  with  his  luggage.  We  are  all  of  us  equally 
fearful  of  death,  and  ignorant  of  life ; but  what  can  be  more 
shameful  than  to  be  solicitous  upon  the  brink  of  security  1 
If  death  be  at  any  time  to  be  feared,  it  is  always  to  be  fear- 
ed ; but  the  way  never  to  fear  it,  is  to  be  often  thinking  of 
it.  To  what  end  is  it  to  put  off  for  a little  while  that  which 


SENKCA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


183 


we  cannot  avoid]  He  that  dies  does  but  follow  him  that  is 
dead.  “ Why  are  we  then  so  long  afraid  of  that  which  is 
so  little  awhile  of  doing]”  How  miserable  are  those  people 
that  spend  their  lives  in  the  dismal  apprehensions  of  death  ! 
for  they  are  beset  on  all  hands,  and  every  minute  in  dread 
of  a surprise.  We  must  therefore  look  about  us,  as  if  we 
were  in  an  enemy’s  country;  and  consider  our  last  hour, 
not  as  a punishment,  but  as  the  law  of  Nature : the  fear  of 
it  is  a continual  palpitation  of  the  heart,  and  he  that  over- 
comes that  terror  shall  never  be  troubled  with  any  other. 
Life  is  a navigation ; we  are  perpetually  wallowing  and  dash- 
ing one  against  another : sometimes  we  suffer  shipwreck, 
but  we  are  always  in  danger  and  in  expectation  of  it.  And 
what  is  it  when  it  comes,  but  either  the  end  of  a journey,  or 
a passage  1 It  is  as  great  a folly  to  fear  e/eat/i  as  to  fear  ola 
age;  nay,  as  to  fear  life  itself;  for  he  that  would  not  die 
ought  not  to  live,  since  death  is  the  condition  of  life.  Beside 
that  it  is  a madness  to  fear  a thing  that  is  certain  ; for  where 
there  is  no  doubt,  there  is  no  place  for  fear. 

We  are  still  chiding  of  Fate,  and  even  those  that  exact 
the  most  rifforous  iustice  betwixt  man  and  „ . 

man  are  yet  themselves  unjust  to  Providence.  oi„,y  njaiure. 

“ Why  was  such  a one  taken  away  in  the 
prime  of  his  years  ]”  As  if  it  were  the  number  of  years  that 
makes  death  easy  to  us,  and  not  the  temper  of  the  mind. 
He  that  would  live  a little  longer  to-day,  would  be  as  loth 
to  die  a hundred  years  hence.  But  which  is  more  reason- 
able for  us  to  obey  Nature,  or  for  Nature  to  obey  us  J Go  we 
must  at  last,  and  no  matter  how  soon.  It  is  the  work  of 
Fate  to  make  us  live  long,  but  it  is  the  business  of  virtue  to 
make  a short  life  sufficient.  Life  is  to  be  measured  by  ac- 
tion, not  by  time;  a man  may  die  old  at  thirty,  and  young 
at  fourscore;  nay,  the  one  lives  after  death,  and  the  other 
perished  before  he  died.  I look  upon  age  among  the  effects 
of  chance.  How  long  I shall  live  is  in  the  power  of  others, 
but  it  is  in  my  own  how  well.  The  largest  space  of  time 
is  to  live  till  a man  is  wise.  He  that  dies  of  old  age  does  no 
more  than  go  to  bed  when  he  is  weary.  Death  is  the  test  of 
life,  and  it  is  that  only  which  discovers  what  we  are,  and  dis- 
tinguishes betwixt  ostentation  and  virtue.  A man  may  dis- 
pute, cite  great  authorities,  talk  learnedly,  huff  it  out,  and 
yet  be  rotten  at  heart.  But  let  us  soberly  attend  our  busi- 
ness ; and  since  it  is  uncertain  when,  or  where,  we  shall 
uie,  let  us  look  for  death  in  all  places,  and  at  all  times : vie 


184 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


can  never  study  that  point  too  much,  which  we  can  never 
come  to  experiment  whether  we  know  it  or  not.  It  is  a 
blessed  thing  to  dispatch  the  business  of  life  before  we  die, 
and  then  to  expect  death  in  the  possession  of  a happy  life. 
He  is  the  great  man  that  is  willing  to  die  when  his  life  is 
pleasant  to  him.  An  honest  life  is  not  a greater  good  than 
an  honest  death.  How  many  brave  young  men,  by  an  in- 
stinct of  Nature,  are  carried  on  to  great  actions,  and  even 
tc  the  contempt  of  all  hazards ! 

It  is  childish  to  go  out  of  the  world  groaning  and  wailing 
It  is  childish  to  came  into  it.  Our  bodies  must  be  thrown 

die  lamenting,  away,  as  the  secundine  that  wraps  up  the  infant, 
the  other  being  only  the  covering  of  the  soul ; 
we  shall  then  discover  the  secrets  of  Nature ; the  darkness 
shall  be  discussed,  and  our  souls  irradiated  with  light  and 
glory ; a glory  without  a shadow ; a glory  that  shall  surround 
us,  and  from  whence  we  shall  look  down  and  see  day  and 
night  beneath  us.  If  we  cannot  lift  up  our  eyes  toward  the 
lamp  of  lieaven  without  dazzling,  what  shall  we  do  when 
we  come  to  behold  the  divine  light  in  its  illustrious  original  1 
That  death  which  we  so  much  dread  and  decline,  is  not  the 
determination,  but  the  intermission  of  a life,  which  will  re- 
turn again.  All  those  things,  that  are  the  very  cause  of  life, 
are  the  way  to  death : we  fear  it  as  we  do  fame ; but  it  is 
a great  folly  to  fear  words.  Some  people  are  so  impatient 
of  life,  that  they  are  still  wishing  for  death ; but  he  that 
wishes  to  die  does  not  desire  it : let  us  rather  wait  God’s 
pleasure,  and  pray  for  health  and  life.  If  we  have  a mind  to 
live,  why  do  we  wish  to  die?  If  we  have  a mind  to  die,  we 
may  do  it  without  talking  of  it.  Men  are  a great  deal  more 
resolute  in  the  article  of  death  itself  than  they  are  about  the 
circumstances  of  it : for  it  gives  a man  courage  to  consider 
that  his  fate  is  inevitable : the  slow  approaches  of  death  are 
the  most  troublesome  to  us ; as  we  see  many  a gladiator,  who 
upon  his  wounds,  will  direct  his  adversary’s  weapon  to  his 
very  heart,  though  but  timorous  perhaps  in  the  combat 
There  are  some  that  have  not  the  heart  either  to  live  or 
die;  that  is  a sad  case.  But  this  we  are  sure  of,  “the  fear 
of  death  is  a continual  slavery,  as  the  con  tempt  of  it  is  certain 
’Iberty’’ 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


18: 


CHAP.  XXII. 

Consolations  against  death,  from  the  providence  and  the. 
necessity  of  it. 

This  life  is  only  a prelude  to  eternity,  where  we  are  to 
expect  another  original,  and  another  state  of  things;  we  have 
no  prospect  of  heaven  here  but  at  a distance ; let  us  therefore 
expect  our  last  and  decretory  hour  with  courage.  The  last 
(I  say)  to  our  bodies,  but  not  to  our  minds : our  luggage  we 
leave  behind  us,  and  return  as  naked  out  of  tlie  world  as  we 
came  into  it.  The  day  which  we  fear  as  our  last  is  but  the 
birth-day  of  our  eternity ; and  it  is  the  only  way  to  it.  So  that 
what  we  fear  as  a rock,  proves  to  be  but  a port,  in  many  cases 
to  be  desired,  never  to  be  refused  ; and  he  that  dies  young 
has  only  made  a quick  voyage  of  it.  Some  are  becalmed, 
others  cut  it  away  before  wind  ; and  we  live  just  as  we  sail : 
first,  we  rub  our  childhood  out  of  sight ; our  youth  next;  and 
then  our  middle  age;  after  that  follows  old  age,  and  brings 
us  to  the  common  end  of  mankind.  It  is  a great  providence 
that  we  have  more  ways  out  of  the  world  than  we  have  into 
it.  Our  security  stands  upon  a point,  the  very  article  of  death. 
It  draws  a great  many  blessings  into  a very  narrow  compass: 
and  although  the  fruit  of  it  does  not  seem  to  extend  to  the 
defunct,  yet  the  difficulty  of  it  is  more  than  balanced  by  the 
contemplation  of  the  future.  Nay,  suppose  that  all  the  busi- 
ness of  this  world  should  be  forgotten,  or  my  memory  tra- 
duced, what  is  all  this  to  me?  “I  have  done  my  duty.”  Un- 
doubtedly that  which  puts  an  end  to  all  other  evils,  cannot 
be  a very  great  evil  itself,  and  yet  it  is  no  easy  thing  for  flesh 
and  blood  to  despise  life.  What  if  death  comes!  If  it  does 
not  stay  with  us,  why  should  we  fear  it?  One  hangs  himself 
for  a mistress ; another  leaps  the  garret-window  to  avoid  a 
choleric  master  ; a third  runs  away  and  stabs  himself,  rather 
than  he  will  be  brought  back  again.  We  see  the  force  even 
of  our  infirmities,  and  shall  we  not  then  do  greater  things 
for  the  love  of  virtue!  To  suffer  death  is  but  the  law  of  Na- 
ture ; and  it  is  a great  comfort  that  it  can  be  done  but  once ; 
in  the  very  convulsions  of  it  we  have  this  consolation,  that 
our  pain  is  near  an  end,  and  that  it  frees  us  from  all  the  mise- 
ries of  life.  What  it  is  we  know  not,  and  it  were  ra.sh  to 
condemn  what  we  do  not  understand  ; but  this  we  presume, 
either  that  we  shall  pass  out  of  this  into  a better  hfe,  where 
Q2 


186 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


vve  shall  I've  with  tranquillity  and  splendor,  in  diviner  man- 
sions, or  else  return  to  our  first  principles,  free  from  the 
sense  of  any  inconvenience.  There  is  nothing-  immortal, 
nor  many  things  lasting;  but  by  divers  ways  every  thing 
comes  to  an  end.  What  an  arrogance  is  it  then,  when  the 
world  itself  stands  condemned  to  a dissolution,  that  man 
alone  should  expect  to  live  for  ever ! It  is  unjust  not  to  al- 
low unto  the  giver  the  power  of  disposing  of  his  own  hour  ty 
and  a folly  only  to  value  the  present.  Death  is  as  mucn  a 
debt  as  money,  and  life  is  but  a journey  towards  it:  some 
dispatch  it  sooner,  others  later,  but  we  must  all  have  the 
same  period.  The  thunderbolt  is  undoubtedly  just  that 
draws  even  from  those  that  are  struck  with  it  a veneration. 
A great  soul  takes  no  delight  in  staying  with  the  body:  it 
considers  whence  it  came,  and  knows  whither  it  is  to  go. 
The  day  will  come  that  shall  separate  this  mixture  of  soul 
and  body,  of  divine  and  human;  my  body  I will  leave  where 
1 found  it,  my  soul  I will  restore  to  heaven,  which  would 
have  been  there  already,  but  for  the  clog  that  keeps  it  down : 
and  beside,  how  many  men  have  been  the  worse  for  longer 
living,  that  might  have  died  with  reputation  if  they  had  been 
sooner  taken  away  ! How  many  disappointments  of  hope- 
ful youths,  that  have  proved  dissolute  men  ! Over  and  above 
the  ruins,  shipwrecks,  torments,  prisons,  that  attend  long 
life ; a blessing  so  deceitful,  that  if  a child  were  in  con- 
dition to  judge  of  it,  and  at  liberty  to  refuse  it,  he  would 
not  take  it. 

What  Providence  has  made  necessary,  human  prudence 
should  comply  with  cheerfully : as  there  is  c. 

maiie  necessary,  I'^cessity  of  death,  SO  that  necessity  is  equal 

man  siionid  and  invincible.  No  man  has  cause  of  com- 

*^clieerfu7i  '*'  p'^int  for  tliat  which  every  man  must  suffer 
as  well  as  himself  When  we  should  die,  we 
will  not,  and  when  we  would  not,  we  must:  but  our  fate 
is  fixed,  and  unavoidable  is  the  decree.  Why  do  we  then 
stand  trembling  when  the  time  comes!  AVhy  do  we  not 
as  well  lament  that  we  did  not  live  a thousand  years  ago, 
as  that  we  shall  not  be  alive  a thousand  years  hence  1 It  is 
but  travelling  the  great  road,  and  to  the  place  whither  we 
must  all  go  at  last.  It  is  but  submitting  to  the  law  of 
Nature,  and  to  that  lot  which  the  whole  world  has  suffered 
that  is  gone  before  us ; and  so  must  they  too  that  are  to 
come  after  us.  Nay,  how  many  thousands,  when  our  time 
comes,  will  expire  in  the  same  moment  with  us ! He  that 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


187 


will  not  follow  shall  be  drawn  by  force:  and  is  it  not  much 
better  now  to  do  that  willingly  which  wo  shall  otherwise 
be  made  to  do  in  spite  of  our  hearts  1 The  sons  of  mortal 
parents  must  expect  a mortal  posterity  ; death  is  the  end  of 
great  and  small.  We  are  born  helpless,  and  exposed  to 
the  injuries  of  all  creatures,  and  of  all  weathers.  The 
very  necessaries  of  life  are  deadly  to  us.  We  meet  with 
our  fate  in  our  dishes,  in  our  cups,  and  in  the  very  air  we 
breathe ; nay,  our  very  birth  is  inauspicious,  for  we  corne 
into  the  world  weeping;  and  in  the  middle  of  our  designs, 
while  we  are  meditating  great  matters,  and  stretching  of 
our  thoughts  to  after-ages,  death  cuts  us  off;  and  our 
longest  date  is  only  the  revolution  of  a few  years.  One 
man  dies  at  the  table,  another  goes  away  in  his  sleep,  a 
third  in  his  mistress’s  arms,  a fourth  is  stabbed,  another  is 
stung  with  an  adder,  or  crushed  with  the  fall  of  a house. 
We  have  several  ways  to  our  end,  but  the  end  itself,  which 
is  death,  is  still  the  same.  Whether  we  die  by  a sword,  by 
a halter,  by  a potion,  or  by  a disease,  it  is  all  but  death.  A 
child  dies  in  the  swaddling-clouts,  and  an  old  man  at  a hun- 
dred ; they  are  both  mortal  alike,  though  the  one  goes 
sooner  than  the  other.  All  that  lies  betwixt  the  cradle  and 
the  grave  is  uncertain.  If  we  compute  the  troubles,  the 
life  even  of  a child  is  long ; if  the  sweetness  of  the  passage, 
that  of  an  old  man  is  short ; the  whole  is  slippery  and  de- 
ceitful, and  only  death  certain  ; and  yet  all  people  complain 
of  that  which  never  deceived  any  man.  Senecio  raised 
himself  from  a small  beginning  to  a vast  fortune,  being  very 
well  skilled  in  the  faculties  both  of  getting  and  of  keeping, 
and  either  of  them  was  sufficient  for  the  doing  of  his  busi- 
ness. He  was  a man  infinitely  careful  both  of  his  patrimony 
and  of  his  body.  He  gave  me  a morning’s  visit,  (says  our 
author)  and  after  that  visit  he  went  away,  and  spent  the 
rest  of  the  day  with  a friend  of  his  that  was  desperately 
sick.  At  night  he  was  merry  at  supper,  and  seized  imme- 
diately after  with  a quinsy,  which  dispatched  him  in  a few 
hours.  This  man  that  had  money  at  use  in  all  places,  and 
in  the  very  course  and  height  of  his  prosperity,  was  thus 
cut  off.  How  foolish  a thing  is  it  then  for  a man  to  flatter 
himself  with  long  hopes,  and  to  pretend  to  dispose  of  the  fu- 
ture ! Nay,  the  very  present  slips  through  our  fingers,  and 
there  is  not  that  moment  which  we  can  call  our  own.  How 
vain  a thing  is  it  for  us  to  enter  upon  projects,  and  to  say 
to  ourselves,  “Well,  I will  go  build,  purchase,  discharg« 


188 


SENlfJA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


such  offices,  settle  my  affairs,  and  then  retire  !”  We  are 
all  of  us  born  to  the  same  casualties ; all  equally  frail  and 
uncertain  of  to-morrow.  At  the  very  altar,  where  we  pray 
for  life,  we  learn  to  die  by  seeing-  the  sacrifices  killed  be- 
fore us.  But  there  is  no  need  of  a wound,  or  searching  the 
heart  for  it,  when  the  noose  of  a cord,  or  the  smothering  of 
a pillow,  will  do  the  work.  All  things  have  their  seasons; 
they  begin,  they  increase,  and  they  die.  The  heavens  and 
the  earth  grow  old,  and  are  appointed  tlieir  periods.  That 
which  we  call  death  is  but  a pause  or  suspension,  and  in 
truth  a progress  to  life ; only  our  thoughts  look  downward 
upon  the  body,  and  not  forward  upon  things  to  come.  All 
things  under  the  sun  are  mortal;  cities,  empires:  and  the 
time  will  come  when  it  shall  be  a question  where  they 
were,  and  perchance  whether  ever  they  had  a being  or  not. 
Some  will  be  destroyed  by  war,  others  by  luxury,  fire,  in- 
undations, earthquakes  : why  should  it  trouble  me  then  to 
die,  as  a forerunner  of  an  universal  dissolutioni  A great 
mind  submits  itself  to  God,  and  suffers  willingly  what  the 
law  of  the  universe  will  otherwise  bring  to  pass  upon  ne- 
cessity. That  good  old  man  Bassus,  (though  with  one  foot 
in  the  grave)  how  cheerful  a mind  does  he  bear!  He  lives 
in  the  view  of  death,  and  contemplates  his  own  end  with 
less  concern  of  thought  or  countenance  than  he  would  do 
another  man’s.  It  is  a hard  lesson,  and  we  are  a long  time 
a learning  of  it,  to  receive  our  death  without  trouble,  espe- 
cially in  the  case  of  Bassus.  In  other  deaths  there  is  a 
mixture  of  hope;  a disease  may  be  cured,  a fire  quenched, 
a falling  house  either  propped  or  avoided ; the  sea  may 
swallow  a man  and  throw  him  up  again;  a pardon  may  in- 
terpose betwixt  the  ax  and  tlie  body;  but  in  the  case  of 
old  age  there  is  no  place  for  either  hope  or  intercession. 
Let  us  live  in  our  bodies,  therefore,  as  if  we  were  only  to 
lodge  in  them  tliis  night,  and  to  leave  them  to-morrow.  It 
is  the  frequent  thought  of  death  that  must  fortify  us  against 
I he  necessity  of  it.  He  that  has  armed  himself  against 
poverty,  may,  perhaps,  come  to  live  in  plenty.  A man  may 
strengthen  himself  against  pain,  and  yet  live  in  a state  of 
health ; against  the  loss  of  friends,  and  never  lose  any  : but 
he  that  fortifies  himself  against  the  fear  of  death  shall  most 
certainly  have  occasion  to  employ  that  virtue.  It  is  the 
care  of  a wise  and  a good  man  to  look  to  his  manners  and 
actions;  and  rather  how  well  he  lives  than  how  long:  for 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPA  LIFE.  189 

to  die  sooner  or  later  is  not  the  business;  but  to  die  well  or 
ill : for  “ death  brings  us  to  immortality.” 


CHAP.  XXIII. 

Against  immoderate  sorrow  for  the  death  of  friends. 

Next  to  the  encounter  of  death  in  our  own  bodies,  the 
most  sensible  calamity  to  an  honest  man  is  the  death  of  a 
friend ; and  we  are  not  in  truth  without  some  generous  in- 
stances of  those  that  have  preferred  a friend’s  life  before  their 
wn  ; and  yet  this  affliction,  which  by  nature  is  so  grievous 
JO  us,  is  by  virtue  and  Providence  made  familiar  and  easy. 

To  lament  the  death  of  a friend  is  both  natural  and  just; 
a sigh  or  a tear  I would  allow  to  his  memory : go„ow  within 
but  no  profuse  or  obstinate  sorrow.  Clamorous  bounds  is  ai- 
nd  public  lamentations  are  not  so  much  the  lowabie. 
effects  of  grief  as  of  vain-glory.  He  that  is  sadder  in  com- 
pany than  alone,  shows  rather  the  ambition  of  his  sorrow 
than  the  piety  of  it.  Nay,  and  in  the  violence  of  his  passion 
there  fall  out  twenty  things  that  set  him  a-laughing.  At 
the  long-run,  time  cures  all,  but  it  were  better  done  by 
moderation  and  wisdom.  Some  people  do  as  good  as  set  a 
watch  upon  themselves,  as  if  they  were  afraid  that  their 
grief  would  make  an  escape.  The  ostentation  of  grief  is 
many  times  more  than  the  grief  itself.  When  any  body  is 
within  hearing,  what  groans  and  outcries  ! when  they  ar“ 
alone  and  private,  all  is  hush  and  quiet : so  soon  as  anj 
body  comes  in,  they  are  at  it  again ; and  down  they  throw 
themselves  upon  the  bed;  fall  to  wringing  of  their  hands, 
and  wishing  of  themselves  dead ; which  they  might  have 
executed  by  themselves  ; but  their  sorrow  goes  off  with  the 
company.  We  forsake  nature,  and  run  over  to  the  prac- 
tices of  the  people,  that  never  were  the  authors  of  any  thing 
that  is  good.  If  destiny  were  to  be  wrought  upon  by  tears, 
I would  allow  you  to  spend  your  days  and  nights  in  sadness 
and  mourning,  tearing  of  your  hair,  and  beating  of  your 
breast ; but  if  Fate  be  inexorable,  and  death  will  keep  what 
it  has  taken,  grief  is  to  no  purpose.  And  yet  I would  not 
advise  insensibility  and  hardness;  it  were  inhumanitv,  and 


1!)0  SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 

not  virtue,  not  to  be  moved  at  the  separation  of  familiar 
friends  and  relations;  now,  in  such  cases,  we  cannot  com- 
mand ourselves,  we  cannot  forbear  weeping,  and  we  ought 
not  to  forbear  : but  let  us  not  pass  the  bounds  of  affection, 
and  run  into  imitation ; within  these  limits  it  is  some  ease 
to  the  mind. 

A wise  man  gives  way  to  tears  in  some  cases,  and  cannot 
Sorrow  is  n them  in  others.  When  one  is  struck 

some  cases  *ai-  with  the  surprise  of  ill  news,  as  the  death 
lowahie.  and  of  a friend,  or  the  like ; or  upon  the  last  em- 
*'**^others*  brace  of  an  acquaintance  under  the  hand  of 
an  executioner,  he  lies  under  a natural  neces- 
sity of  weeping  and  trembling.  In  another  case,  we  may 
indulge  our  sorrow,  as  upon  the  memory  of  a dead  friend’s 
conversation  or  kindness,  one  may  let  fall  tears  of  generosity 
and  joy.  We  favor  the  one,  and  we  are  overcome  by  the 
other;  and  this  is  well : but  we  are  not  upon  any  terms  to 
force  them : they  may  flow  of  their  own  accord,  without 
derogating  fro>^  the  dignity  of  a wise  man ; who  at  the 
same  time  botn  preserves  his  gravity,  and  obeys  nature. 
Nay,  there  is  a certain  decorum  even  in  weeping ; for 
excess  of  sorrow  is  as  foolish  as  profuse  laughter.  Why  do 
we  not  as  well  cry,  when  our  trees  that  we  took  pleasure  in, 
shed  their  leaves,  as  at  the  loss  of  other  satisfactions;  when 
the  next  season  repairs  them,  either  with  the  same  again, 
or  others  in  their  places.  We  may  accuse  Fate,  but  we 
cannot  alter  it ; for  it  is  hard  and  inexorable,  and  not  to  be 
removed  either  with  reproaches  or  tears.  They  may  carry 
MS  to  the  dead,  but  never  bring  them  back  again  to  us.  If 
reason  does  not  put  an  end  to  our  sorrows,  fortune  never 
will:  one  is  pinched  with  poverty;  another  solicited  with 
ambition,  and  fears  the  very  wealth  that  he  coveted.  One 
is  troubled  for  the  loss  of  children;  another  for  the  want 
of  them : so  that  we  shall  sooner  want  tears  than  matter 
for  them  ; let  us  therefore  spare  that  for  which  we  have  so 
much  occasion.  I do  confess,  that  in  the  very  parting  of 
friends  there  is  something  of  uneasiness  and  trouble  ; but  it 
is  rather  voiuntary  than  natural;  and  it  is  custom  more 
than  sense  that  affects  us:  we  do  ratlier  impose  a sorrow 
upon  ourselves  than  submit  to  it;  as  people  cry  when  they 
have  company,  and  when  nobody  looks  on,  all  is  well  again. 
To  mourn  without  measure  is  folly,  and  not  to  mourn  at  all  is 
insensihility.  The  best  temper  is  betwixt  piety  and  reason ; 
to  be  sensible,  but  neither  transported  nor  cast  down.  He 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


191 


that  can  put  a stop  to  his  tears  and  pleasures  when  lie  will 
is  safe.  It  is  an  equal  infelicity  to  be  either  too  soft  or  too 
hard : we  are  overcome  by  the  one,  and  we  are  put  to 
struggle  with  the  other.  There  is  a certain  intemperance 
in  that  sorrow  that  passes  the  rules  of  modesty ; and  yet 
great  piety  is,  in  many  cases,  a dispensation  to  good  man- 
ners. The  loss  of  a son  or  of  a friend  cuts  a man  to  the 
heart,  and  there  is  no  opposing  the  first  violence  of  his  pas- 
sion ; but  when  a man  comes  once  to  deliver  himself  wholly 
up  to  lamentations,  he  is  to  understand,  that  though  some 
tears  deserve  compassion,  others  are  yet  ridiculous.  A 
grief  that  is  fresh  finds  pity  and  comfort,  but  when  it  is  in- 
veterate it  is  laughed  at,  for  it  is  either  counterfeit  or  foolish. 
Beside  that,  to  weep  excessively  for  the  dead  is  an  affront 
to  the  living.  The  most  justifiable  cause  of  mourning  is 
to  see  good  men  come  to  ill  ends,  and  virtue  oppressed  by 
the  iniquity  of  Fortune.  But  in  this  case,  too,  they  either 
suffer  resolutely,  and  yield  us  delight  in  their  courage  and 
example,  or  meanly,  and  so  give  us  the  less  trouble  for  the 
loss.  He  that  dies  cheerfully,  dries  up  my  tears;  and  he 
that  dies  whiningly,  does  not  deserve  them.  I would  bear 
the  death  of  friends  and  children  with  the  same  constancy 
that  I would  expect  my  own,  and  no  more  lament  the  one 
than  fear  the  other.  He  that  bethinks  himself,  how  often 
friends  have  been  parted,  will  find  more  time  lost  among 
the  living  than  upon  the  dead  ; and  the  most  desperate 
mourners  are  they  that  cared  least  for  their  friends  when 
they  were  living;  for  they  think  to  redeem  their  credits, 
for  want  of  kindness  to  the  living,  by  extravagant  ravings 
after  the  dead.  Some  (I  know)  will  have  grief  to  be  only 
the  perverse  delight  of  a restless  mind,  and  sorrows  and 
pleasures  to  be  near  akin ; and  there  are,  I am  confident, 
that  find  joy  even  in  their  tears.  But  which  is  more  bar- 
barous, to  be  insensible  of  grief  for  the  death  of  a friend,  or 
to  fish  for  pleasure  in  grief,  when  a son  perhaps  is  burning, 
or  a friend  expiring!  To  forget  one’s  friend,  to  bury  the 
memory  with  the  body,  to  lament  out  of  measure,  is  all  in- 
human. He  that  is  gone  either  would  not  have  his  friend 
tormented,  or  does  not  know  that  he  is  so : if  he  does  not 
feel  it,  it  is  superfluous ; if  he  does,  it  is  unacceptable  to 
him.  If  reason  cannot  prevail,  reputation  may ; for  im- 
moderate mourning  lessens  a man’s  character : it  is  a 
shameful  thing  for  a wise  man  to  make  the  weariness  of 


192 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


grieving  the  remedy  of  it.  In  time,  the  most  stubborn  griet 
vvill  leave  us,  if  in  prudence  we  do  not  leave  that  first. 

But  do  I grieve  for  my  friend’s  sake  or  for  my  own  1 

Why  should  I afflict  myself  for  the  loss  of 

for  our  own  him  that  IS  either  happy  or  not  at  all  in  being] 
Bakes  than  for  In  the  one  case  it  is  envy,  and  in  the  other  it 
our  riems.  niadness.  We  are  apt  to  say,  “What 
would  I give  to  see  him  again,  and  to  enjoy  his  conversa- 
tion! I was  never  sad  in  his  company:  my  heart  leaped 
whenever  I met  him ; I want  him  wherever  I go.”  All  that 
is  to  be  said  is,  “ The  greater  the  loss,  the  greater  is  the 
virtue  to  overcome  it.”  If  grieving  will  do  no  good,  it  is 
an  idle  thing  to  grieve;  and  if  that  which  has  befallen  one 
man  remains  to  all,  it  js  as  unjust  to  complain.  The  whole 
world  is  upon  the  march  towards  the  same  point;  why  do 
we  not  cry  for  ourselves  that  are  to  follow,  as  well  as  for 
him  that  has  gone  first]  Why  do  we  not  as  well  lament 
belorehand  for  that  which  we  know  wilt  be,  and  cannot 
poesibly  but  be  ] He  is  not  gone,  but  sent  before.  As  there 
are  many  things  that  he  has  lost,  so  there  are  many  things 
that  he  does  not  fear;  as  anger,  jealousy,  envy,  &c.  Is  he 
not  more  happy  in  desiring  nothing  than  miserable  in  what 
he  has  lost]  We  do  not  mourn  for  the  absent,  why  then 
for  the  dead,  who  are  effectually  no  other!  We  have  lost 
one  blessing,  but  we  have  many  left ; and  shall  not  all  these 
satisfactions  support  us  against  one  sorrow  ] 

The  comfort  of  having  a friend  may  be  taken  away,  but 
A friend  may  not  that  of  having  had  one.  As  there  is  a 
be  taken  away,  sharpness  in  some  fruits,  and  a bitterness  in 
comfort  of  the  some  wines  that  please  us,  so  there  is  a mix- 
friendsiiii).  ture  in  the  remembrance  of  friends,  where 
the  loss  of  their  company  is  sweetened  again  by  the  con- 
templation of  their  virtues.  In  some  respects  I have  lost 
what  I had,  and  in  others  I retain  still  what  I have  lost.  It 
is  an  ill  construction  of  Providence  to  reflect  only  upon  my 
friend’s  being  taken  away,  without  any  regard  to  the  benefit 
of  his  being  once  given  me.  Let  us  therefore  make  the 
best  of  our  friends  while  we  have  them  ; for  how  long  we 
shall  keep  them  is  uncertain.  I have  lost  a hopeful  son,  but 
how  many  fathers  have  been  deceived  in  their  expectations' 
and  how  many  noble  families  have  been  destroyed  by  luxury 
and  riot ! He  that  grieves  for  the  loss  of  a son,  what  if  he 
nad  lost  a friend  ] and  yet  he  that  has  lost  a friend  has  more 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


193 


cause  of  joy  that  he  once  had  him,  than  of  grief  that  he  is 
taken  away.  Shall  a man  bury  his  friendship  with  his 
friend  1 We  are  ungrateful  for  that  which  is  past,  in  hope 
of  what  is  to  come ; as  if  that  which  is  to  come  would  not 
quickly  be  past  too.  That  which  is  past  we  are  sure  of. 
We  may  receive  satisfaction,  it  is  true,  both  from  the  future 
and  what  is  already  past;  the  one  by  expectation,  and  the 
other  by  memory;  only  the  one  may  possibly  not  come 
to  pass,  and  it  is  impossible  to  make  the  other  not  to  have 
been. 

But  there  is  no  applying  of  consolation  to  fresh  and 
' bleeding  sorrow  ; the  very  discourse  irritates 
the  grief  and  inflames  it.  It  is  like  an  un-  dealing  with 
seasonable  medicine  in  a disease ; when  the  the  first  trana- 
flrst  violence  is  over,  it  will  be  more  tracta- 
ole,  and  endure  the  handling.  Those  people  whose  minds 
are  weakened  by  long  felicity  may  be  allowed  to  groan  and 
complain,  but  it  is  otherwise  with  those  that  have  led  their 
days  in  misfortunes.  A long  course  of  adversity  has  this 
good  in  it,  that  though  it  vexes  a body  a great  while,  it 
comes  to  harden  us  at  last;  as  a raw  soldier  shrinks  at  every 
wound,  and  dreads  the  surgeon  more  than  an  enemy ; 
whereas  a veteran  sees  his  own  body  cut  and  lamed  with  as 
little  concern  as  if  it  were  another’s.  With  the  same  res- 
olution should  we  stand  the  shock  and  cure  of  all  mis- 
fortunes; we  are  never  the  better  for  our  experience,  if  we 
have  not  yet  learned  to  be  miserable.  And  there  is  no 
thought  of  curing  us  by  the  diversion  of  sports  and  entertain- 
ments ; we  are  apt  to  fall  into  relapses ; wherefore  we  had 
better  overcome  our  sorrow  than  delude  it 


CHAP.  xxrv. 

Consolation  against  banishment  and  bodily  pain. 

It  is  a masterpiece  to  draw  good  out  of  evil ; and,  by 
the  help  of  virtue,  to  improve  misfortunes  into  blessings. 
“ It  is  a sad  condition,”  you  will  say,  “ for  a man  to  be 
barred  the  freedom  of  his  own  country.”  And  is  not  this  the 
case  of  thousands  that  we  meet  every  day  in  the  streets  ’ 
Some  for  ambition ; others,  to  negotiate,  or  for  curioeitv 
delight,  friendship,  study,  experience,  luxury,  vanity,  dis- 
R 


194 


SENKCA  OF  A HAPFY  LIFE. 


content’  some  to  exercise  their  virtues,  others  their  vices, 
and  not  a few  to  prostitute  either  their  bodies  or  their  elo' 
quence ! To  pass  now  from  pleasant  countries  into  the 
worst  of  islands ; let  them  be  never  so  barren  or  rocky,  the 
people  never  so  barbarous,  or  the  clime  never  so  intemper- 
ate, he  that  is  banished  thither  shall  find  many  strangers  to 
live  there  for  their  pleasure.  The  mind  of  man  is  naturally 
curious  and  restless;  which  is  no  wonder,  considering  their 
divine  original ; for  heavenly  things  are  always  in  motion  : 
witness  the  stars,  and  the  orbs,  which  are  perpetually  mov- 
ing, rolling,  and  changing  of  place,  and  according  to  the  law 
and  appointment  of  Nature.  But  here  are  no  woods,  you 
will  say,  no  riveis,  no  gold  nor  pearl,  no  commodity  for 
traffic  or  commerce;  nay,  hardly  provision  enough  to  keep 
the  inhabitants  from  starving.  It  is  very  right;  here  are  no 
palaces,  no  artificial  grottoes,  or  materials  for  luxury  and 
excess ; but  we  lie  under  the  protection  of  Heaven ; and  a 
poor  cottage  for  a retreat  is  more  worth  than  the  most, 
magnificent  temple,  when  that  cottage  is  consecrated  by  an 
honest  man  under  the  guard  of  his  virtue.  Shall  any  man 
think  banishment  grievous,  when  he  may  take  such 
company  along  with  him  1 Nor  is  there  any  banishment  but 
yields  enough  for  our  necessities,  and  no  kingdom  is  suffi- 
cient for  superfluities.  It  is  the  mind  that  makes  us  rich  in 
a desert;  and  if  the  body  be  but  kept  alive,  the  soul  enjoys 
all  spiritual  felicities  in  abundance.  What  signifies  the 
being  banished  from  one  spot  of  ground  to  another,  to  a man 
that  has  his  thoughts  above,  and  can  look  forward  and  back- 
ward, and  wherever  he  pleases;  and  that,  wherever  he  is, 
has  the  same  matter  to  work  upon  The  body  is  but  the 
prison  or  the  clog  of  the  mind,  subjected  to  punishments, 
robberies,  diseases;  but  the  mind  is  sacred  and  spiritual, 
and  liable  to  no  violence.  Is  it  that,  a man  shall  want  gar- 
ments or  covering  in  banishment  1 The  body  is  as  easily 
clothed  as  fed  ; and  Nature  has  made  nothing  hard  that  is 
necessary.  But  if  nothing  will  serve  us  but  rich  embroi- 
deries and  scarlet,  it  is  none  of  Fortune’s  fau.t  that  we  are 
poor,  but  our  own.  Nay,  suppose  a man  should  have  all 
restored  him  back  again  that  he  has  lost,  it  will  come  to 
nothing,  for  he  will  want  more  after  that  to  satisfy  his  desires 
than  he  did  before  to  supply  his  necessities.  Insatiable  ap- 
petites are  not  so  much  a thirst  as  a disease. 

'I’o  come  lower  novi ; where  is  the  people  or  nation  that 


SEPfECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


195 


have  not  changed  their  place  of  abode  1 Some  Banishment  is 
by  the  fate  of  war;  others  have  been  cast  by  hut  change  of 
tempests,  shipwrecks,  or  want  of  provisions, 
upon  unknown  coasts.  Some  have  been  forced  and  nations 
abroad  by  pestilence,  sedition,  earthquakes,  have  been 
surcharge  of  people  at  home.  Some  travel  to  itamshed. 
see  the  world,  others  for  commerce;  but,  in  fine,  it  is  clear, 
that,  upon  some  reason  or  other,  the  whole  race  of  man- 
kind have  shifted  their  quarters;  changed  their  very  names 
as  well  as  their  habitations;  insomuch  that  we  have  lost 
the  very  memorials  of  what  they  were.  All  these  trans- 
portations of  people,  what  are  they  but  public  banishments  ] 
The  very  founder  of  the  Roman  empire  was  an  exile : 
briefly,  the  whole  world  has  been  transplanted,  and  one 
mutation  treads  upon  the  heel  of  another.  That  which  one 
man  desires,  turns  another  man’s  stomach ; and  he  that 
proscribes  me  to-day,  shall  himself  be  cast  out  to-morrow. 
We  have,  however,  this  comfort  in  our  misfortune ; we  have 
the  same  nature,  the  same  Providence,  and  we  carry  our 
virtues  along  with  us.  And  this  blessing  we  owe  to  that 
almighty  Power,  call  it  what  you  will ; either  a God,  or  an 
Incorporeal  Reason,  a Divine  Spirit,  or  Fate,  and  the  un- 
changeable Course  of  causes  and  effects:  it  is,  however, 
so  ordered,  that  nothing  can  be  taken  from  us  but  what  we 
can  well  spare:  and  that  which  is  most  magnificent  and 
valuable  continues  with  us.  Wherever  we  go,  we  have 
the  heavens  over  our  heads,  and  no  farther  from  us  than 
they  were  before ; and  so  long  as  we  can  entertain  our  eyes 
and  thoughts  with  those  glories,  what  matter  is  it  what 
ground  we  tread  upon  ] 

In  the  case  of  pain  or  sickness,  it  is  only  the  body  that  is 
affected ; it  may  take  off  the  speed  of  a foot-  pain  only  af- 
man,  or  bind  the  hands  of  a cobbler,  but  the  fects  the  body, 
mind  is  still  at  liberty  to  hear,  learn,  teach, 
advise,  and  to  do  other  good  offices.  It  is  an  example  of 
public  benefit,  a man  that  is  in  pain  and  patient.  Virtue 
may  show  itself  as  well  in  the  bed  as  in  the  field  ; and  he 
that  cheerfully  encownters  the  terrors  of  death  and  corporal 
anguish,  is  as  great  a man  as  he  that  most  generously  haz- 
ards himself  in  a battle.  A disease,  it  is  true,  bars  us  of 
some  pleasures,  but  procures  us  others.  Drink  is  never  so 
grateful  to  us  as  in  a burning  fever;  nor  meat,  as  when  we 
have  fasted  ourselves  sharp  and  hungry.  The  patient  may 


196 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


be  forbidden  some  sensual  satisfaction,  but  no  physician  wi,» 
forbid  us  the  delight  of  the  mind.  Shall  we  call  any  sick 
man  miserable,  because  he  must  give  over  his  intemper- 
ance of  wine  and  gluttony,  and  betake  himself  to  a diet  of 
more  sobriety,  and  less  expense ; and  abandon  his  luxury, 
which  is  the  distemper  of  the  mind  as  well  as  of  the  bodyl 
It  is  troublesome,  I know,  at  first,  to  abstain  from  the 
pleasures  we  have  been  used  to,  and  to  endure  hunger  and 
thirst;  but  in  a little  time  we  lose  the  very  appetite,  and  it 
is  no  trouble  then  to  be  without  that  which  we  do  not 
desire.  In  diseases  there  are  great  pains;  but  if  they  be 
long  they  remit,  and  give  us  some  intervals  of  ease;  if 
short  and  violent,  either  they  dispatch  us,  or  consume  them- 
selves; so  that  either  their  respites  make  them  tolerable,  or 
the  extremity  makes  them  short.  So  merciful  is  Almighty 
God  to  us,  that  our  torments  cannot  be  very  sharp  and  last- 
ing. The  acutest  pains  are  those  that  affect  the  nerves,  but 
there  is  this  comfort  in  them  too,  that  they  will  quickly 
make  us  stupid  and  insensible.  In  cases  of  extremity,  let 
us  call  to  mind  the  most  eminent  instances  of  patience  and 
courage,  and  turn  our  thoughts  from  our. afflictions  to  the 
contemplation  of  virtue.  Suppose  it  be  the  stone,  the  gout, 
nay,  the  rack  itself;  how  many  have  endured  it  without  so 
much  as  a groan  or  word  speaking;  without  so  much  as  ask- 
ing for  relief,  or  giving  an  answer  to  a question  ! Nay. 
they  have  laughed  at  the  tormentors  upon  the  very  torture, 
and  provoked  them  to  new  experiments  of  their  cruelty, 
which  they  have  had  still  in  derision.  The  asthma  I look 
upon  as  of  all  diseases  the  most  importunate ; the  physi- 
cians call  it  the  meditation  of  death,  as  being  rather  an 
agony  than  a sickness ; the  fit  holds  one  not  above  an  hour, 
as  nobody  is  long  in  expiring.  Are  there  not  three  things 
grievous  in  sickness,  the  fear  of  death,  bodily  pain,  and  the 
intermission  of  our  pleasures]  the  first  is  to  be  imputed  to 
nature,  not  to  the  disease;  for  we  do  not  die  because  we 
are  sick,  but  because  we  live.  Nay,  sickness  itself  has  pre- 
served many  a man  from  dying. 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


197 


CHAP.  XXV. 

Poverty  to  a wise  man  is  rather  a blessing  than  a mis- 
fortune. 

No  man  shall  ever  be  poor  that  goes  to  himself  for  wha 
(>e  wants ; and  that  is  the  readiest  way  to  riches.  Nature, 
indeed,  will  have  her  due ; but  yet  whatsoever  is  beyond 
necessity  is  precarious,  and  not  necessary.  It  is  not  her 
business  to  gratify  the  palate,  but  to  satisfy  a craving 
stomach.  Bread,  when  a man  is  hungry,  does  his  work,  let 
it  be  never  so  coarse;  and  water  when  he  is  dry;  let  his 
thirst  be  quenched,  and  Nature  is  satisfied,  no  matter  whence 
it  comes,  or  whether  he  drinks  in  gold,  silver,  or  in  the  hol- 
low of  his  hand.  To  promise  a man  riches,  and  to  teach 
him  poverty,  is  to  deceive  him:  but  shall  I call  him  poor 
that  wants  nothing;  though  he  may  be  beholden  for  it  to 
his  patience,  rather  than  to  his  fortune  1 Or  shall  any  man 
deny  him  to  be  rich,  whose  riches  can  never  be  taken  away. 
Whether  is  it  better  to  have  much  or  enough  1 He  that  has 
much  desires  more,  and  shows  that  he  has  not  yet  enough  ; 
but  he  that  has  enough  is  at  rest.  Shall  a man  be  reputed 
the  less  rich  for  not  having  that  for  which  he  shall  be  ban- 
ished ; for  which  his  very  wife,  or  son,  shall  poison  him : 
that  which  gives  him  security  in  war,  and  quiet  in  peace  ; 
which  he  possesses  without  danger,  and  disposes  of  without 
trouble]  No  man  can  be  poor  that  has  enough;  nor  rich, 
that  covets  more  than  he  has.  Alexander,  after  all  his  con- 
quests, complained  that  he  wanted  more  worlds  ; he  desired 
something  more,  even  when  he  had  gotten  all : and  that 
which  was  sufficient  for  human  nature  was  not  enough  for 
one  man.  Money  never  made  any  man  rich  ; for  the  more 
he  had,  the  more  he  still  coveted.  The  richest  man  tha 
ever  lived  is  poor  in  my  opinion,  and  in  any  man’s  may  be 
so ; but  he  that  keeps  himself  to  the  stint  of  Nature,  does 
neither  feel  poverty  nor  fear  it ; nay,  even  in  poverty  itself 
there  are  some  things  superfluous.  Those  which  the  world 
calls  happy,  their  felicity  is  a false  splendor,  that  dazzles 
the  eyes  of  the  vulgar;  but  our  rich  man  is  glorious  and 
ha])py  within.  There  is  no  ambition  in  hunger  or  thirst: 
let  there  be  food,  and  no  matter  for  the  table,  the  dish,  and 
the  servants,  nor  with  what  moats  nature  is  satisfied.  Those 
are  the  torments  of  luxury,  that  rather  stuff  the  stomach 
R2 


198 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


than  fill  it:  it  studies  rather  to  cause  an  appetite  than  to 
allay  it.  It  is  not  for  us  to  say,  “This  is  not  handsome* 
that  is  common  ; the  other  offends  my  eye.”  Nature  pro- 
,'ides  for  health,  not  delicacy.  When  the  trumpet  sounds 
a charge,  the  poor  man  knows  that  he  is  not  aimed  at;  when 
they  cry  out  fire,  his  body  is  all  he  has  to  look  after  : if  he 
he  to  take  a journey,  there  is  no  blocking  up  of  streets,  and 
thronging  of  passages,  for  a parting  compliment : a small 
matter  fills  his  belly,  and  contents  his  mind:  he  lives  from 
hand  to  mouth,  without  caring  or  fearing  for  to-morrow 
The  temperate  rich  man  is  but  his  counterfeit ; his  wit  is 
quicker  and  his  appetite  calmer. 

No  man  finds  poverty  a trouble  to  him,  but  he  that  thinks 
Poverty  is  only  thinks  it  SO,  makes  it  so. 

troublesome  in  Does  not  a rich  man  travel  more  at  ease  with 
opinion.  ]pgg  luggage,  and  fewer  servants?  Does  he 
ot  eat  many  times  as  little  and  as  coarse  in  the  field  as  a 
poor  man  ? Does  he  not  for  his  own  pleasure,  sometimes, 
and  for  variety,  feed  upon  the  ground,  and  use  only  earthen 
vessels  ? Is  not  he  a madman  then,  that  always  fears  what  he 
often  desires,  and  dreads  the  thing  that  he  takes  delight  to 
imitate : he  that  would  know  the  worst  of  poverty,  let  him 
out  compare  the  looks  of  the  rich  and  of  the  poor,  and  he 
Bhall  find  the  poor  man  to  have  a smoother  brow,  and  to  be 
nore  merry  at  heart ; or  if  any  trouble  befalls  him,  it  passes 
ver  like  a cloud : whereas  the  other,  either  his  good- 
umor  is  counterfeit,  or  his  melancholy  deep  and  ulcer- 
ted,  and  the  worse,  because  he  dares  not  publicly  own  his 
misfortune;  but  he  is  forced  to  play  the  part  of  a happy 
man  even  with  a cancer  in  his  heart.  His  felicity  is  but  per- 
onated ; and  if  he  were  but  stripped  of  his  ornaments,  he 
would  be  contemptible.  In  buying  of  a horse,  we  take  otf 
his  clothes  and  his  trappings,  and  examine  his  shape  and 
body  for  fear  of  being  cozened ; and  shall  we  put  an  esti- 
mate upon  a man  for  being  set  off  by  his  fortune  and  quality ! 
Nay,  if  we  see  any  thing  of  ornament  about  him,  we  are  to 
suspect  him  the  more  for  some  infirmity  under  it.  He  that 
is  not  content  in  poverty,  would  not  be  so  neither  in  plenty; 
for  the  fault  is  not  in  the  thing,  but  in  the  mind.  If  that  be 
sickly,  remove  him  from  a kennel  to  a palace,  he  is  at  the 
same  pass;  for  he  carries  his  disease  along  with  him.  What 
can  be  happier  than  the  condition,  both  of  mind  and  of  for- 
tune, from  which  we  cannot  fall  ? What  can  be  a greatei 
felicity  than,  in  a covetous  designing  age,  for  a man  to  live 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


199 


safe  among  informers  and  thieves  1 It  puts  a poor  man  into 
the  very  condition  of  Providence  that  gives  all,  without  re- 
serving any  thing  to  itself  How  happy  is  he  that  owes  no- 
thing but  to  himself,  and  only  that  which  he  can  easily  re- 
fuse or  easily  pay ! I do  not  reckon  him  poor  that  has  but  a 
little,  but  he  is  so  that  covets  more:  it  is  a fair  degree  of 
plenty  to  have  what  is  necessary.  Whether  had  a man 
better  find  satiety  in  want,  or  hunger  in  plenty  1 It  is  not 
the  augmenting  of  our  fortunes,  but  the  abating  of  our  ap- 
petites, that  makes  us  rich.  Why  may  not  a man  as  well 
contemn  riches  in  his  own  coffers  as  in  another  man’s; 
and  rather  hear  that  they  are  his,  than  feel  them  to  be  so] 
though  it  is  a great  matter  not  to  be  corrupted,  even  by 
having  them  under  the  same  roof  He  is  the  greater  man 
that  is  honestly  poor  in  the  middle  of  plenty ; but  he  is  the 
more  secure  that  is  free  from  the  temptation  of  that  plenty, 
and  has  the  least  matter  for  another  to  design  upon.  It  is 
no  great  business  for  a poor  man  to  preach  the  contempt  of 
riches,  or  for  a rich  man  to  extol  the  benefits  of  poverty, 
because  we  do  not  know  how  either  the  one  or  the  other 
would  behave  himself  in  the  contrary  condition.  The  best 
proof  is,  the  doing  of  it  by  choice,  and  not  by  necessity ; for 
the  practice  of  poverty  in  jest  is  a preparation  toward  the 
bearing  of  it  in  earnest.  But  it  is  yet  a generous  disposition 
so  to  provide  for  the  worst  of  fortunes  as  what  may  be  easily 
borne : the  premeditation  makes  them  not  only  tolerable, 
but  delightful  to  us;  for  there  is  that  in  them,  without  which 
nothing  can  be  comfortable,  that  is  to  say,  security.  If  there 
were  nothing  else  in  poverty  but  the  certain  knowledge  of 
our  friends,  it  were  yet  a most  desirable  blessing,  when 
every  man  leaves  us  but  those  that  love  us.  It  is  a shame 
to  place  the  happiness  of  life  in  gold  and  silver,  for  which 
bread  and  water  is  sufficient ; or,  at  the  worst,  hunger  puts 
an  end  to  hunger.  For  the  honor  of  poverty,  it  was  boili 
the  foundation  and  the  cause  of  the  Roman  empire ; and 
no  man  was  ever  yet  so  poor  but  he  had  enough  to  carry 
him  to  his  journey’s  end. 

All  I desire  is,  that  my  property  may  not  be  a burden  tc 
myself,  or  .make  me  so  to  others;  and  that  is  Mediocrity  is 
the  best  state  of  fortune,  tliat  is  neither  directly  the  best  state 
necessitous,  nor  far  from  it.  A mediocrity  of  fortune, 
fortune,  with  a gentleness  of  mind,  will  preserve  us  from 
fear  or  envy ; which  is  a desirable  condition,  for  no  man 
wants  power  to  do  mischief.  We  never  consider  the  bless- 


200 


SENECA  OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 


ing  of  coveting  nothing,  and  the  glory  of  being  full  in  our- 
selves, without  depending  upon  P’ortune.  With  parsimony, 
a little  is  sufficient;  and  without  it  nothing;  whereas  fru- 
gality makes  a poor  man  rich.  If  we  lose  an  estate,  we  had 
better  never  have  had  it : he  that  has  least  to  lose  has  least  to 
fear;  and  those  are  better  satisfied  whom  Fortune  never 
favored  than  those  whom  she  has  forsaken.  The  state  is 
most  commodious  that  lies  betwixt  poverty  and  plenty. 
Diogenes  understood  this  very  well,  when  he  put  himself 
into  an  incapacity  of  losing  any  thing.  That  course  of  life 
is  most  commodious  which  is  both  safe  and  wholesome ; the 
body  is  to  be  indulged  no  farther  than  for  health ; and  rather 
mortified  than  not  kept  in  subjection  to  the  mind.  It  is  ne- 
cessary to  provide  against  hunger,  thirst,  and  cold ; and 
somewhat  for  a covering  to  shelter  us  against  other  incon- 
veniences ; but  not  a pin  matter  whether  it  be  of  turf  or  of 
marble.  A man  may  lie  as  warm  and  as  dry  under  a thatch- 
ed as  under  a gilded  roof.  Let  the  mind  be  great  and  glo- 
rious, and  all  other  things  are  despicable  in  comparison. 
“ The  future  is  uncertain  ; and  I had  rather  beg  of  myself 
uot  to  desire  any  thing,  than  of  Fortune  to  bestow  it.” 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


CHAP.  I. 

Anger  described,  it  is  against  nature,  and  only  to  he 
found  in  man. 

We  are  here  to  encounter  the  most  outrageous,  brutal, 
dangerous,  and  intractable  of  all  passions ; the  most  lothe- 
some  and  unmannerly ; nay,  the  most  ridiculous  too ; and 
the  subduing  of  this  monster  will  do  a great  deal  toward 
the  establishment  of  human  peace.  It  is  the  method  of  phy- 
sicians to  begin  with  a description  of  the  disease,  before 
they  meddle  with  the  cure ; and  1 know  not  why  this  may 
not  do  as  well  in  the  distempers  of  the  mind  as  in  those  of 
the  body. 

The  Stoics  will  have  anger  to  be  a “desire  of  punishing 
another  for  some  injury  done.”  Against  which  . ^ ,,  ^ 

It  IS  objected,  that  we  are  many  times  angry  jt  jg. 

with  those  that  never  did  hurt  us,  but  possibly 
may,  though  the  harna  be  not  as  yet  done.  But  I say,  that 
they  hurt  us  already  in  conceit:  and  the  very  purpose  of  it 
is  an  injury  in  thought  before  it  breaks  out  into  act.  It  is 
opposed  again,  that  if  anger  were  a desire  of  punishing, 
mean  people  would  not  be  angry  with  great  ones  that  are 
out  of  their  reach  ; for  no  man  can  be  said  to  desire  any 
thing  which  he  judges  impossible  to  compass.  But  I an 
swer  to  this,  That  anger  is  the  desire,  not  the  power  and 
faculty  of  revenge : neither  is  any  man  so  low,  but  that  thr 
greatest  man  alive  may  perad venture  lie  at  his  mercy. 

Aristotle  takes  anger  to  be,  “a  desire  of  paying  sorrow 
for  sorrow and  of  plaguing  those  that  have  plagued  us 
It  is  argued  against  both,  that  beasts  are  angry ; though 
neither  provoked  by  any  injury,  nor  moved  with  a desire  ot 
any  body’s  grief  or  punishment.  Nay,  though  they  cause 
it,  they  do  not  design  or  seek  it.  Neither  is  anger  (how 
unreasonable  soever  in  itself)  found  anywhere  but  in  rca- 


202 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


sonable  creatures.  It  is  true,  the  beasts  have  an  impulse  of 
rage  and  fierceness ; as  they  are  more  affected  also  than 
men  with  some  pleasures ; but  \v(!  may  as  well  call  them 
luxurious  and  ambitious  as  angry.  And  yet  they  are  not 
without  certain  images  of  human  affections.  They  have 
their  likings  and  their  lothings;  but  neither  the  passions 
of  reasonable  nature,  nor  their  virtues,  nor  their  vices. 
They  are  moved  to  fury  by  some  objects;  they  are  quieted 
by  others;  they  have  their  terrors  and  their  disappoint- 
ments, but  without  reflection:  and  let  them  be  never  so 
mud)  irritated  or  affrighted,  so  soon  as  ever  the  occasion  is 
removed  they  fall  to  their  meat  again,  and  lie  down  and  takd 
their  rest.  Wisdom  and  thought  are  the  goods  of  the  mind, 
whereof  brutes  are  wholly  incapable;  and  we  are  as  unlike 
them  within  as  we  are  without:  they  have  an  odd  kind  of 
fancy,  and  they  have  a voice  too;  but  inarticulate  and 
confused,  and  incapable  of  those  variations  which  are  fa- 
miliar to  us. 

Anger  is  not  only  a vice,  but  a vice  point-blank  against 
It  is  a aiiist  **■  divides  instead  of  joining;  and 

^ "nature."^*  some  measure,  frustrates  the  end  of  Provi- 
dence in  human  society.  One  man  was  born 
^o  help  another : anger  makes  us  destroy  one  another  ; the 
tMie  unites,  the  other  separates ; the  one  is  beneficial  to  us, 
the  other  mischievous ; the  one  succors  even  strangers,  the 
other  destroys  even  the  most  intimate  friends;  the  one  ven- 
tures all  to  save  another,  the  other  ruins  himself  to  undo  an- 
other. Nature  is  bountiful,  but  anger  is  pernicious : for  it 
is  not  fear,  but  mutual  love  that  binds  up  mankind. 

There  are  some  motions  that  look  like  anger,  which  can- 
not properly  be  called  so ; as  the  passion  of  the  people 
against  the  gladiators,  when  they  hang  off,  and  will  no*' 
make  so  quick  a dispatch  as  the  spectators  would  have 
them:  there  is  something  in  it  of  the  humor  of  children, 
that  if  they  get  a fall,  will  never  leave  bawling  until  the 
naughty  ground  is  beaten,  and  then  all  is  well  again.  They 
are  angry  without  any  cause  or  injury ; they  are  deluded 
by  an  imitation  of  strokes,  and  pacified  with  counterfeit 
tears  A false  and  a childish  sorrow  is  appeased  with  as 
false  and  as  childish  a revenge.  They  take  it  for  a contempt, 
if  the  gladiators  do  not  immediately  cast  themselves  upon 
the  sword’s  point.  They  look  presently  about  them  from 
one  to  another,  as  who  should  say;  “Do  but  see,  my  masters, 
how  these  rogues  abuse  us.” 


SENECA  OF  ANGER.  203 

To  descend  to  the  particular  branches  and  varieties  would 
he  unnecessary  and  endless.  There  is  a stub-  „ 
born,  a vindictive,  a quarrelsome,  a violent,  a anger, 
froward,  a sullen,  a morose  kind  of  anger: 
and  then  we  have  this  variety  in  complication  too.  One 
goes  no  farther  than  words,  another  proceeds  immediately 
to  blows,  without  a word  speaking  ; a third  sort  breaks  out 
into  cursing  and  reproachful  language : and  there  are  that 
content  themselves  with  chiding  and  complaining.  There 
is  a confiliable  anger,  and  there  is  an  implacable ; but  in 
what  form  or  degree  soever  it  appears,  all  anger,  without 
exception,  is  vicious. 


CHAP.  II. 

The  rise  of  anger. 

The  question  will  be  here,  whether  anger  takes  its  rise 
from  impulse  or  judgment  1 that  is,  whether  it  bo  moved  of 
its  own  accord,  or,  as  many  other  things  are,  from  wifiiin 
us,  that  arise  we  know  not  how  1 The  clearing  of  this  point, 
will  lead  us  to  greater  matters. 

The  frst  motion  of  anger  is  in  truth,  involuntary,  and 
only  a kind  of  menacing  preparation  towards 
it.  The  second  deliberates  ; as  who  should  ™ *^of 
say,  “This  injury  should  not  pass  without  a 
revenge  and  there  it  stops.  The  third  is  impotent ; and 
right  or  wrong,  resolves  upon  vengeance.  The  frst  mo- 
tion is  not  to  be  avoided,  nor  indeed  the  second,  any  more 
than  yawning  for  company  : custom  and  care  may  lessen  it, 
but  reason  itself  cannot  overcome  it.  The  third,  as  it  rises 
upon  consideration,  it  must  fall  so  too;  for  that  motion 
which  proceeds  with  judgment  may  be  taken  away  with 
judgment.  A man  thinks  himself  injured,  and  hath  a mind 
to  be  revenged,  but  for  some  reason  lets  it  rest.  This  is  not 
properly  anger,  but  an  affection  overruled  by  reason  ; a kinu 
of  proposal  disapproved.  And  what  are  reason  and  affec- 
tion, but  only  changes  of  the  mind  for  the  better  or  for  the 
worse!  Reason  deliberates  before  it  judges;  but  anger 
passes  sentence  without  deliberation.  Reason  only  attends 
the  matter  in  hand  ; but  anger  is  startled  at  every  accident; 
it  passes  the  bounds  of  reason,  and  carries  it  away  with  it. 


204 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


In  short,  “ anger  is  an  agitation  of  the  mind  that  proceeds 
to  the  resolution  of  a revenge,  the  mind  assenting  to  it.” 
There  is  no  doubt  but  anger  is  moved  by  the  species  of  an 
injury,  but  whether  that  motion  be  voluntary  or  involuntary, 
is  the  point  in  debate ; though  it  seems  manifest  to  me  that 
anger  does  nothing  but  where  the  mind  goes  along  with 
it.  For,  first,  to  take  an  offence,  and  then  to  meditate  a 
revenge,  and  after  that,  to  lay  both  propositions  together, 
and  say  to  myself,  “This  injury  ought  not  to  have  been 
done ; but,  as  the  case  stands,  I must  do  myself  right.”  This 
discourse  can  never  proceed  without  the  concurrence  of  the 
will.  The  first  motion  indeed,  is  single  ; but  all  the  rest  is 
deliberation  and  superstructure  : there  is  something  under- 
stood and  condemned  : an  indignation  conceived,  and  a re- 
venge propounded.  This  can  never  be  without  the  agree- 
ment of  the  mind  to  the  matter  in  deliberation.  The  end 
of  this  question  is,  to  know  the  nature  and  quality  of  anger. 
If  it  be  bred  in  us,  it  will  never  yield  to  reason,  for  all  in- 
voluntary motions  are  inevitable  and  invincible;  as  a kind 
of  horror  and  shrugging  upon  the  sprinkling  of  cold  water; 
the  hair  standing  on  end  at  ill  news;  giddiness  at  the  sight 
of  a precipice ; blushing  at  lewd  discourse.  In  these  cases, 
reason  can  do  no  good ; but  anger  may  undoubtedly  be 
overcofne  by  caution  and  good  counsel ; for  it  is  a voluntary 
vice,  and  not  of  the  condition  of  those  accidents  that  befall 
us  as  frailties  of  our  humanity:  amongst  which  must  be 
reckoned  the  first  motions  of  the  mind,  after  the  opinion  of 
an  injury  received,  which  it  is  not  in  the  power  of  human 
nature  to  avoid  : and  this  is  it  that  affects  us  upon  the  stage, 
or  in  a story.  Can  any  man  read  the  death  of  Pompey,  and 
not  be  touched  with  an  indignation  1 The  sound  of  a trum- 
pet rouses  the  spirits,  and  provokes  courage.  It  makes  a 
man  sad  to  see  the  shipwreck  even  of  an  enemy ; and  we 
are  much  surprised  by  fear  in  other  cases:  all  these  mo- 
tions are  not  so  much  affections  as  preludes  to  them.  The 
clashing  of  arms,  or  the  beating  of  a drum,  excites  a war- 
horse  : nay,  a song  from  Xenophantes  would  make  Alexan- 
der take  his  sword  in  his  hand.  In  all  these  cases,  the 
mind  rather  suffers  than  acts ; and  therefore  it  is  not  an  af- 
fection to  be  moved,  but  to  give  way  to  that  motion,  and  to 
follow  willingly  what  was  started  by  chance.  These  are 
not  affections,  but  impulses  of  the  body.  The  bravest  man 
in  the  world  may  look  pale  when  he  puts  on  his  armor,  his 
knees  knock,  and  his  heart  work  before  the  battle  is  joined : 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


•205 


but  these  are  only  motions : whereas  anger  is  an  excursion, 
and  proposes  revenge  or  punishment,  which  cannot  be  with- 
out the  mind.  As  fear  flies,  so  anger  assaults ; and  it  is 
not  possible  to  resolve,  either  upon  violence  or  caution, 
without  the  concurrence  of  the  will. 


CHAP.  III. 

Anger  may  he  suppressed. 

It  is  an  idle  thing  to  pretend  that  we  cannot  govern  our 
anger ; for  some  things  that  we  do  are  much  harder  than 
others  that  we  ought  to  do ; the  wildest  affections  may  be 
tamed  by  discipline,  and  there  is  hardly  any  thing  which 
the  mind  will  do  but  it  may  do.  There  needs  no  more  argu- 
ment in  this  case  than  the  instances  of  several  persons,  both 
powerful  and  impatient,  that  have  gotten  the  absolute  mas- 
tery of  themselves  in  this  point. 

Thrasippus  in  his  drink  fell  foul  upon  the  cruelties  of 
Pisistratus:  who,  when  he  was  urged  by„.  . 
several  about  him  to  make  an  example  ot  tered  his  anger, 
him,  returned  this  answer,  “ Why  should  I 
be  angry  with  a man  that  stumbles  upon  me  blindfold  1”  In 
effect  most  of  our  quarrels  are  of  our  own  making,  either 
by  mistake  or  by  aggravation.  Anger  comes  sometimes 
upon  us,  but  we  go  oftener  to  it,  and  instead  of  rejecting  it 
we  call  it. 

Augustus  was  a great  master  of  his  passion  : for  Tima- 
genus,  an  historian,  wrote  several  bitter  things  „„ 
against  his  person  and  his  family:  which  of  Augustus, 
passed  among  the  people  plausibly  enough,  as 
pieces  of  rash  wit  commonly  do.  Caesar  advised  him  several 
times  to  forbear;  and  when  that  would  not  do,  forbade  him 
his  roof.  After  this,  Asinius  Pollio  gave  him  entertain- 
ment ; and  he  was  so  well  beloved  in  the  city,  that  every 
man’s  house  was  open  to  him.  Those  things  that  he  had 
written  in  honor  of  Augustus,  he  recited  and  burnt,  and 
publicly  professed  himself  Caesar’s  enemy.  Augustus,  for 
all  this,  never  fell  out  with  any  man  that  received  him , 
S 


20fi 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


only  once,  he  told  Pollio,  that  he  had  taken  a snake  into  his 
Dosom  : and  as  Pollio  was  about  to  excuse  himself ; “ No,” 
says  Cffisar,  interrupting  him,  “make  your  best  of  him.” 
And  offering  to  cast  him  off  at  that  very  moment,  if  Csesar 
pleased:  “Do  you  think,”  says  Csesar,  “that  I will  ever 
contribute  to  the  parting  of  you,  that  made  you  friends!” 
for  Pollio  was  angry  with  him  before,  and  only  entertained 
him  now  because  Ceesar  had  discarded  him. 

The  moderation  of  Antigonus  was  remarkable.  Some 
of  his  soldiers  were  railing  at  him  one  night, 
there  was  but  a hanging  betwixt 
them.  Antigonus  overheard  them,  and  putting 
it  gently  aside  ; “ Soldiers,”  says  he,  “ stand  a little  further 
off,  for  fear  the  king  should  hear  you.”  And  we  are  to  con- 
sider, not  only  violent  examples,  but  moderate,  where  there 
wanted  neither  cause  of  displeasure  nor  power  of  revenge: 
as  in  the  case  of  Antigonus,  who  the  same  night  hearing 
nis  soldiers  cursing  him  for  bringing  them  into  so  foul  a 
way,  he  went  to  them,  and  witliout  telling  them  who  fie 
was,  helped  them  out  of  it.  “Now,”  says  he,  “you  may 
be  allowed  to  curse  him  that  brought  you  into  the  mire, 
provided  you  bless  him  that  took  you  out  of  it.” 

It  was  a notable  story  that  of  Vedius  Pallio,  upon  his  in- 
A predominant  ' it'ng  of  Augustus  to  supper.  One  of  his  boys 
fear  masters  happened  to  break  a glass:  and  his  master, 
anger.  j,j  page,  commanded  him  to  be  thrown  in  a 
pond  to  feed  his  lampreys.  This  action  of  his  might  be 
taken  for  luxury,  though,  in  truth,  it  was  cruelty.  The 
boy  was  seized,  but  brake  loose  and  threw  himself  at  Au- 
gustus’s feet,  only  desiring  that  he  might  not  die  that  death. 
Caisar,  in  abhorrence  of  the  barbarity,  presently  ordered  all 
the  rest  of  the  glasses  to  be  broken,  the  boy  to  be  released, 
and  the  pond  to  be  filled  up,  that  there  might  be  no  further 
occasion  for  an  inhumanity  of  that  nature.  This  was  an 
authority  well  employed.  Shall  the  breaking  of  a glass 
cost  a man  his  life!  Nothing  but  a predominant  fear  could 
ever  have  mastered  his  choleric  and  sanguinary  disposi 
tion.  This  man  deserved  to  die  a thousand  deaths,  either 
for  eating  human  flesh  at  second-hand  in  his  lampreys,  or 
for  keeping  of  his  fish  to  be  so  fed. 

It  is  written  of  Praexaspes  (a  favorite  of  Cambyses,  who 
was  much  given  to  wine)  that  he  took  the  freedom  to  tell 
'lis  prince  of  his  hard  drinking,  and  to  lay  before  him  the 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


207 


scandal  and  the  inconveniences  of  his  e.xcesses;  and  how 
that,  in  those  distempers,  he  had  not  the  command  of  him- 
self. “Now,”  says  Cambyses,  “to  show  you  your  mis- 
take, you  shall  see  me  drink  deeper  than  ever  I did,  and 
yet  keep  the  use  of  my  eyes,  and  of  my  hands,  as  well  as 
if  I were  sober.”  Upon  this  he  drank  to  a higher  pitch 
than  ordinary,  and  ordered  Preexaspes’  son  to  go  out,  and 
stand  on  the  other  side  of  the  threshold,  with  his  left  arm 
over  his  head;  “And,”  says  he,  “If  I have  a good  aim, 
have  at  the  heart  of  him.”  He  shot,  and  upon  cutting  up  the 
young  man,  they  found  indeed  that  the  arrow  had  struck 
him  through  the  middle  of  the  heart.  “ What  do  you  think 
now,”  says  Cambyses,  “ is  my  hand  steady  or  not  1”  “Apollo 
himself,”  says  Preexaspes,  “ could  not  have  outdone  it.”  It 
may  be  a question  now,  which  was  the  greater  impiety,  the 
murder  itself,  or  the  commendation  of  it;  for  him  to  take 
the  heart  of  his  son,  while  it  was  yet  reeking  and  panting 
under  the  wound,  for  an  occasion  of  flattery : why-  was 
there  not  another  experiment  made  upon  the  father,  to  try 
f Cambyses  could  not  have  yet  mended  his  shot!  This  was 

most  unmanly  violation  of  hospitality ; but  the  approba- 
tion of  the  fact  was  still  worse  than  the  crime  itself  This 
example  of  Prsexaspes  proves  sufficiently  that  a man  may 
repress  his  anger ; for  he  returned  not  one  ill  word,  no  not 
o much  as  a complaint;  but  he  paid  dear  for  his  good  coun- 
el.  He  had  been  wiser,  perhaps,  if  he  had  let  the  king 
lone  in  his  cups,  for  he  had  better  have  drunk  wine  than 
blood.  It  is  a dangerous  office  to  give  good  advice  to  in- 
temperate princes. 

Another  instance  of  anger  suppressed  we  have  in  Harpa- 
gus, who  was  commanded  to  expose  Cyrus  An  instance  of 
upon  a mountain.  But  the  child  was  pre-ansi^i^s^PPr^^^ed 
served ; which,  when  Astyages  came  after-  "*  Harpagus, 
wards  to  understand,  he  invited  Harpagus  to  a dish  of  meat ; 
and  when  he  had  eaten  his  fill,  he  told  him  it  was  a piece 
of  his  son,  and  asked  him,  how  he  liked  the  seasoning. 
“ Whatever  pleases  your  Majesty,”  says  Harpagus,  “must 
please  me :”  and  he  made  no  more  words  of  it.  It  is  most 
certain,  that  we  might  govern  our  anger  if  we  would ; for 
the  same  thing  that  galls  us  at  home  gives  us  no  offence  at 
all  abroad ; and  what  is  the  reason  of  it,  but  that  we  are 
patient  in  one  place,  and  froward  in  another! 

It  was  a strong  provocation  that  which  was  given  to  Philic- 


208 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


The  mociRration  of  Macedon,  the  father  of  Alexander.  The 
^Mdc'don”^  Athenians  sent  their  ambassadors  to  him, 
and  they  were  received  with  this  compliment, 
‘Tell  me,  gentlemen,”  says  Philip,  “what  is  there  that 
I can  do  to  oblige  the  Athenians'!”  Democharas,  one  of 
the  ambassadors,  told  him,  that  they  would  take  it  for 
a great  obligation  if  he  would  be  pleased  to  hang  him- 
self. This  insolence  gave  an  indignation  to  the  bystanders; 
but  Philip  bade  them  not  to  meddle  with  him,  but  even  to 
let  that  foul-mouthed  fellow  go  as  he  came.  “ And  for  you, 
the  rest  of  the  ambassadors,”  says  he,  “ pray  tell  the  Athe- 
nians, that  it  is  worse  to  speak  such  things  than  to  hear  and 
forgive  them.”  This  wonderful  patience  under  contumelies 
was  a great  means  of  Philip’s  security. 


CHAP.  IV. 

It  is  a short  madness,  and  a deformed  vice. 

He  was  much  in  the  right,  whoever  it  was,  that  first 
called  anger  a short  madness ; for  they  have  both  of  them 
the  same  symptoms;  and  there  is  so  wonderful  a resem- 
blance betwixt  the  transports  of  choler  and  those  of  frenzy, 
that  it  is  a hard  matter  to  know  the  one  from  the  other. 
A bold,  fierce,  and  threatening  countenance,  as  pale  as 
ashes,  and,  in  the  same  moment,  as  red  as  blood;  a glaring 
ye,  a wrinkled  brow,  violent  motion.s,  the  hands  restless 
nd  perpetually  in  action,  wringing  and  menacing,  snap- 
ping of  the  joints,  stamping  with  the  feet,  the  hair  starting, 
trembling  lips,  a forced  and  squeaking  voice ; the  speech 
false  and  broken,  deep  and  frequent  sighs,  and  ghastly 
looks ; the  veins  swell,  the  heart  pants,  the  knees  knock ; 
with  a hundred  dismal  accidents  that  are  common  to  botli 
distempers.  Neither  is  anger  a bare  resemblance  only  of 
madness,  but  many  times  an  irrevocable  transition  into  the 
thing  itself.  How  many  persons  have  we  known,  road, 
and  heard  of.  that  have  lost  their  wits  in  a passion,  and 
never  came  to  themselves  again!  It  is  therefore  to  be 
avoided,  not  only  for  moderation’s  sake,  but  also  for  health. 
Now,  if  the  outward  appearance  of  anger  be  so  foul  and 
hideous,  how  deformed  must  that  miserable  mind  be  that  is 
harassed  with  it!  for  it  leaves  no  place  either  for  counsel  or 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


209 


friendship,  honesty  or  good  manners;  no  place  either  for  the 
exercise  of  reason,  or  for  the  offices  of  life.  If  I were  to 
describe  it,  I would  draw  a tiger  bathed  in  blood,  sharp  set, 
and  ready  to  take  a leap  at  his  prey;  or  dress  it  up  as  the 
poets  represent  the  furies,  with  whips,  snakes,  and  flames ; 
it  should  be  sour,  livid,  full  of  scars,  and  wallowing  in  gore, 
raging  up  and  down,  destroying,  grinning,  bellowing,  and 
pursuing ; sick  of  all  other  things,  and  most  of  all,  itself.  It 
turns  beauty  into  deformity,  and  the  calmest  counsels  into 
fierceness  : it  disorders  our  very  garments,  and  fills  the  mind 
with  horror.  How  abominable  is  it  in  the  soul  then,  when  it 
appears  so  hideous  even  through  the  bones,  the  skin,  and  so 
many  impediments!  Is  not  he  a madman  that  has  lost  the 
government  of  himself,  and  is  tossed  hither  and  thither  by 
his  fury  as  by  a tempest  1 the  executioner  and  the  murderer 
of  his  nearest  friends'!  The  smallest  matter  moves  it,  and 
makes  us  unsociable  and  inaccessible.  It  does  all  things  by 
violence,  as  well  upon  itself  as  others;  and  it  is,  in  short, 
the  master  of  all  passions. 

There  is  not  any  creature  so  terrible  and  dangerous  by 
nature,  but  it  becomes  fiercer  by  anger.  Not 
that  beasts  have  human  affections,  but  cer-  are  made  more 
tain  impulses  they  have  which  come  very  near  terrible  by 
them.  The  boar  foams,  champs,  and  whets  his  “"g®'"- 
„usks ; the  bull  tosses  his  horns  in  the  air,  bounds,  and  tears 
up  the  ground  with  his  feet ; the  lion  roars  and  swinges 
himself  with  his  tail ; the  serpent  swells ; and  there  is  a 
ghastly  kind  of  fellness  in  the  aspect  of  a mad  dog.  How 
great  a wickefiness  is  it  now  to  indulge  a violence,  that 
does  not  only  turn  a man  into  a beast,  but  makes  even  the 
most  outrageous  of  beasts  themselves  to  be  more  dreadful 
and  mischievous ! A vice  that  carries  along  with  it  neither 
pleasure  nor  profit,  neither  honor  nor  security ; but  on  the 
contrary,  destroys  us  to  all  the  comfortable  and  glorious  pur- 
poses of  our  reasonable  being.  Some  there  are,  that  will 
have  the  root  of  it  to  be  the  greatness  of  mind.  And,  why 
may  we  not  as  well  entitle  impudence  to  courage,  whereas 
the  one  is  proud,  the  other  brave ; the  one  is  gracious  and 
gentle,  the  other  rude  and  furious ! At  the  same  rate  we 
may  ascribe  magnanimity  to  avarice,  luxury,  and  ambition, 
which  are  all  but  splendid  impotences,  without  measure  and 
without  foundation.  There  is  nothing  great  but  what  is 
virtuous,  nor  indeed  truly  great,  but  what  is  also  composed 
and  quiet.  Anger,  alas!  is  but  a wild  impetuous  blast,  an 
S2 


210 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


empty  tumor,  the  very  infirmity  of  women  and  cliildren  ; a 
brawling,  clamorous  evil : and  the  more  noise  the  less  cour- 
age ; as  we  find  it  commonly,  that  the  boldest  tongues  have 
the  faintest  hearts. 


CHAP.  V. 

Anger  is  neither  warrantable  nor  useful. 

In  the  first  place.  Anger  is  unwarrantable  as  it  is  unju,st: 
or  it  falls  many  times  upon  the  wrong  person,  and  dis- 
charges itself  upon  the  innocent  instead  of  the  guilty:  be- 
side the  disproportion  of  making  the  most  trivial  offences  to 
be  capital,  and  punishing  an  inconsiderate  word  perhaps 
with  torments,  fetters,  infamy,  or  death.  It  allows  a man 
neither  time  nor  means  for  defence,  but  judges  a cause  with- 
out hearing  it,  and  admits  of  no  mediation.  It  flies  into  the 
face  of  truth  itself,  if  it  be  of  the  adverse  party;  and  turns 
obstinacy  in  an  error,  into  an  argument  of  justice.  It  does 
every  thing  with  agitation  and  tumult;  whereas  reason  and 
equity  can  destroy  whole  families,  if  there  be  occasion  for 
it,  even  to  the  extinguishing  of  their  names  and  memories, 
without  any  indecency,  either  of  countenance  or  action. 

Secondly,  It  is  unsociable  to  the  highest  point;  for  it 
r '5  spares  neither  friend  nor  foe  ; but  tears  all  to 
pieces,  and  casts  human  nature  into  a per- 
petual state  of  war.  It  dissolves  the  bond  of 
mutual  society,  insomuch  that  our  very  companions  and  re- 
lations dare  not  come  near  us;  it  renders  us  unfit  for  the 
ordinary  offices  of  life;  for  we  can  neither  govern  our 
tongues,  our  hands,  nor  any  part  of  our  body.  It  tramples 
upon  the  laws  of  hospitality,  and  of  nations,  leaves  every 
man  to  be  his  own  carver,  and  all  things,  public  and  private, 
sacred  and  profane,  suffer  violence. 

Thirdly,  It  is  to  no  purpose.  “ It  is  a sad  thing,”  we  cry, 
“to  put  up  with  these  injuries,  and  we  are 
notable  to  bear  them;”  as  if  any  man  that 
can  bear  anger  could  not  bear  an  injury, 
which  is  much  more  supportable.  You  will  say  that  anger 
does  some  good  yet,  for  it  keeps  people  in  awe,  and  secures 
a man  from  contempt;  never  considering,  that  it  is  more 
dangerous  to  be  feared  than  despised.  Suppose  that  an 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


211 


angry  man  could  do  as  much  as  he  threatens ; the  more 
terrible,  he  is  still  the  more  odious;  and  on  the  other  side, 
if  he  wants  power,  he  is  the  more  despicable  for  his  anger: 
for  there  is  nothing  more  wretched  than  a choleric  huff,  that 
makes  a noise,  and  nobody  cares  for  it.  If  anger  would  be 
valuable  because  men  are  afraid  of  it,  why  not  an  adder,  a 
toad,  or  a scorpion  as  well  1 It  makes  us  lead  the  life  of 
gladiators;  we  live,  and  we  fight  together. — We  hate  the 
happy,  despise  the  miserable,  envy  our  superiors,  insult 
our  inferiors,  and  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  which 
we  will  not  do,  either  for  pleasure  or  profit.  To  be  angry 
at  offenders  is  to  make  ourselves  the  common  enemies  of 
mankind,  which  is  both  weak  and  wicked;  and  we  may  as 
well  be  angry  that  our  thistles  do  not  bring  forth  apples,  or 
that  every  pebble  in  our  ground  is  not  an  oriental  pearl.  If 
we  are  angry  both  with  young  men  and  with  old,  because 
they  do  offend,  why  not  with  infants  too,  because  they  will 
offend  1 It  is  laudable  to  rejoice  lor  any  thing  that  is  well 
done;  but  to  be  transported  for  another  man’s  doing  ill,  is 
narrow  and  sordid.  Nor  is  it  for  the  dignity  of  virtue  to  be 
either  angry  or  sad.  It  is  with  a tainted  mind  as  with  an 
ulcer,  not  only  the  touch,  but  the  very  offer  at  it,  makes  us 
shrink  and  complain  ; when  we  come  once  to  be  carried  off 
from  our  poise,  we  are  lost.  In  the  choice  of  a sword,  we 
take  care  that  it  be  wieldy  and  well  mounted;  and  it  con- 
cerns us  as  much  to  be  wary  of  engaging  in  the  excesses 
of  ungovernable  passions.  It  is  not  tlie  speed  of  a horse  al- 
together that  pleases  us,  unless  we  find  that  he  can  stop  and 
turn  at  pleasure.  It  is  a sign  of  weakness,  and  a kind  of 
stumbling,  for  a man  to  run  when  he  intends  only  to  walk; 
and  it  behoves  us  to  have  the  same  command  of  our  mind 
that  we  have  of  our  bodies.  Besides  that  the  greatest  pun- 
ishment of  an  injury  is  the  conscience  of  having  done  it; 
and  no  man  suffers  more  than  he  that  is  turned  over  to  the 
pain  of  a repentance.  How  much  better  is  it  to  compose 
injuries  than  to  revenge  them  1 For  it  does  not  only  spend 
time,  but  the  revenge  of  one  injury  exposes  to  more.  In  fine, 
as  it  is  unreasonable  to  be  angry  at  a crime,  it  is  as  foolish 
to  be  angry  without  one. 

But  “ may  not  an  honest  man  then  be  allowed  to  be  an- 
gry at  the  murder  of  his  father,  or  the  ravish-  . 
ing  of  his  sister  or  daughter  before  his  face  1”  allowable!*'”* 
No,  not  at  all.  1 will  defend  my  parents,  and 
I will  repay  the  injuries  that  are  done  them;  but  it  is  my 


212 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


piety  and  not  my  anger,  that  moves  me  to  it.  I will  do  mj 
duty  without  fear  or  confusion;  I will  not  rage,  I will  not 
weep;  but  discharge  the  office  of  a good  man  without  for- 
feiting the  dignity  of  a man.  If  my  father  be  assaulted,  I 
will  endeavor  to  rescue  him;  if  he  be  killed,  I will  do 
right  to  his  memory ; and  all  this,  not  in  any  transport  of 
passion,  but  in  honor  and  conscience.  Neither  is  there  any 
need  of  anger  where  reason  does  the  same  thing.  A man 
may  be  temperate,  and  yet  vigorous,  and  raise  his  mind  ac- 
cording to  the  occasion,  more  or  less,  as  a stone  is  thrown 
according  to  the  discretion  and  intent  of  the  caster.  How 
outrageous  have  I seen  some  people  for  the  loss  of  a mon- 
key or  a spaniel ! And  were  it  not  a shame  to  have  the 
same  sense  for  a friend  that  we  have  for  a puppy ; and  to 
cry  like  children,  as  much  for  a bauble  as  for  the  ruin  of  our 
country!  This  is  not  the  effect  of  reason,  but  of  infirmity. 
For  a man  indeed  to  expose  his  person  for  his  prince,  or  his 
parents,  or  his  friends,  out  of  a sense  of  honesty,  and  judg- 
ment of  duty,  it  is,  without  dispute,  a worthy  and  a glori- 
ous action;  but  it  must  be  done  then  with  sobriety,  calm- 
ness, and  resolution.  It  i^high  time  to  convince  the  world 
of  the  indignity  and  uselessness  of  this  passion,^when  it  has 
the  authority  and  recommendation  of  no  less  than  Aristotle 
himself,  as  an  affection  very  much  conducing  to  all  heroic 
actions  that  require  heat  and  vigor : now,  to  show,  on  the 
other  side,  that  it  is  not  in  any  case  profitable,  we  shall  lay 
open  the  obstinate  and  unbridled  madness  of  it:  a wicked- 
ness neither  sensible  of  infamy  nor  of  glory,  without  either 
modesty  or  fear ; and  if  it  passes  once  from  anger  into  a 
hardened  hatred,  it  is  incurable.  It  is  either  stronger  than 
reason,  or  it  is  weaker.  If  stronger,  there  is  no  contending 
with  it;  if  weaker,  reason  will  do  the  business  without  it. 
Some  will  have  it  that  an  angry  man  is  good-natured  and 
sincere;  whereas,  in  truth,  he  only  lays  himself  open  ou 
of  heedlessness  and  want  of  caution.  If  it  were  in  itself  good 
the  more  of  it  the  better ; but  in  this  case,  the  more  the 
worse ; and  a wise  man  does  his  duty,  without  the  aid  of 
any  thing  that  is  ill.  It  is  objected  by  some,  that  those  are 
^he  most  generous  creatures  which  are  the  most  prone  to 
anger.  But,  first,  reason  in  man  is  impetuous  in  beasts. 
Secondly,  without  discipline  it  runs  into  audaciousness  and 
temerity ; over  and  above  that,  the  same  thing  does  not  help 
all.  If  anger  helps  the  lion,  it  is  fear  that  saves  the  stag, 
swiftness  the  hawk,  and  flight  the  pigeon:  but  man  has 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


213 


God  for  his  example  (who  is  never  angry)  and  not  the  crea- 
tures. And  yet  it  is  not  amiss  sometimes  to  counterfeit 
anger ; as  upon  the  stage ; nay,  upon  the  bench,  and  in  the 
pulpit,  where  the  imitation  of  it  is  more  eifectual  than  the 
thing  itself.  But  it  is  a great  error  to  take  this  passion  either 
for  a companion  or  for  an  assistant  to  virtue  ; that  makes  a 
man  incapable  of  those  necessary  counsels  by  which  virtue 
is  to  govern  herself.  Those  are  false  and  inauspicious 
powers,  and  destructive  of  themselves,  which  arise  only 
from  the  accession  and  fervor  of  disease.  Reason  judges 
according  to  right ; anger  will  have  every  thing  seem  right, 
whatever  it  does,  and  when  it  has  once  pitched  upon  a mis- 
take, it  is  never  to  be  convinced,  but  prefers  a pertinacity, 
even  in  the  greatest  evil,  before  the  most  necessary  repent- 
ance. 

Some  people  are  of  opinion  that  anger  inflames  and  ani- 
mates the  soldier ; that  it  is  a spur  to  bold  jt  is  more  mis- 
and  arduous  undertakings  ; and  that  it  were  chievous  in 
better  to  moderate  than  wholly  to  suppress  it,  peace- 
for  fear  of  dissolving  the  spirit  and  force  of  the  mind.  To 
this  I answer,  that  virtue  does  not  need  the  help  of  vice; 
but  where  there  is  any  ardor  of  mind  necessary,  we  may 
rouse  ours'elves,  and  be  more  or  less  brisk  and  vigorous  as 
there  is  occasion : but  all  without  anger  still.  It  is  a mis- 
take to  say,  that  we  may  make  use  of  anger  as  a common 
soldier,  but  not  as  a commander ; for  if  it  hears  reason,  and 
follows  orders,  it  is  not  properly  anger ; and  if  it  does  not, 
it  is  contumacious  and  mutinous.  By  this  argument  a man 
must  be  angry  to  be  valiant ; covetous  to  be  industrious; 
timorous  to  be  safe,which  makes  our  reason  confederate  with 
our  aSections.  And  it  is  all  one  whether  passion  be  incon- 
siderate without  reason,  or  reason  ineffectual  without  pas- 
sion ; since  the  one  cannot  be  without  the  other.  It  is  true, 
the  less  the  passion,  the  less  is  the  mischief;  for  a little 
passion  is  the  smaller  evil.  Nay,  so  far  is  it  from  being  of 
use  or  advantage  in  the  field,  that  it  is  in  place  of  all  others 
where  it  is  the  most  dangerous  ; for  the  actions  of  war  are 
to  be  managed  with  order  and  caution,  not  precipitation  and 
fancy ; whereas  anger  is  heedless  and  heady,  and  the  virtue 
only  of  barbarous  nations ; which,  though  their  bodies  were 
much  stronger  and  more  hardened,  were  still  worsted  by 
the  moderation  and  discipline  of  the  Romans.  There  is  not 
upon  the  face  of  the  earth  a bolder  or  a more  indefatigable 
nation  than  the  Germans ; not  a braver  upon  a chai  ge,  nor 


214 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


a liardier  against  colds  and  heats;  their  only  delights  ana 
exercise  is  in  arms,  to  the  utter  neglect  of  all  things  else: 
and,  yet  upon  the  encounter,  they  are  broken  and  destroyed 
through  their  own  undisciplined  temerity,  even  by  the  most 
effeminate  of  men.  The  huntsman  is  not  angf  with  the 
wild  boar  when  he  either  pursues  or  receives  iiun ; a good 
swordsman  watches  his  opportunity,  and  keeps  himself 
upon  his  guard,  whereas  passion  lays  a man  open : nay,  it  is 
one  of  the  prime  lessons  in  a fencing-school  to  learn  not  to 
be  angry.  If  Fabius  had  been  choleric,  Rome  had  been  lost ; 
and  before  he  conquered  Hannibal  he  overcame  himself. 
If  Scipio  had  been  angry,  he  would  never  have  left  Han- 
nibal and  his  army  (who  were  the  proper  objects  of  his  dis- 
pleasure) to  carry  the  war  into  Afric  and  so  compass  his  end 
by  a more  temperate  way.  Nay,  he  was  so  slow,  that  it  was 
charged  upon  liim  for  want  of  mettle  and  resolution.  And 
what  did  the  other  Scipio  1 (Africanus  I mean  :)  how  much 
time  did  he  spend  before  Numantia,  to  the  common  grief 
both  of  his  country  and  himself!  Though  he  reduced  it  at 
last  by  so  miserable  a famine,  that  the  inhabitants  laid  vio- 
lent hands  upon  themselves,  and  left  neither  man,  woman, 
nor  child,  to  survive  the  ruins  of  it.  If  anger  makes  a man 
fight  better,  so  does  wine,  frenzy,  nay,  and  fear  itself;  for 
the  greatest  coward  in  despair  does  the  greatest  wonders. 
No  man  is  courageous  in  his  anger  that  was  not  so  without 
it.  But  put  the  case,  that  anger  by  accident  may  have  done 
some  good,  and  so  have  fevers  removed  some  distempers ; 
but  it  is  an  odious  kind  of  remedy  that  makes  us  indebted  to 
a disease  for  a cure.  How  many  men  have  been  preserved 
by  poison;  by  a fall  from  a precipice;  by  a shipwreck;  by 
a tempest ! does  it  therefore  follow  that  we  are  to  recom- 
mend the  practice  of  these  experiments ! 

“ But  in  case  of  an  exemplary  and  prostitute  dissolution 
He  that  is  an-  of  manners,  when  Clodius  shall  be  preferred, 
gry  at  public  Cicero  rejected  ; when  loyalty  shall  be 
shall  iievei-  be  broken  upon  the  wheel,  and  treason  sit  trium- 
at  peace.  phant  upon  the  bench ; is  not  this  a subject  to 
move  the  choler  of  any  virtuous  man !”  No,  by  no  means, 
virtue  will  never  allow  of  the  correcting  of  one  vice  by 
another ; or  that  anger,  which  is  the  greater  crime  of  the 
two,  should  presume  to  punish  the  less.  It  is  the  natural 
property  of  virtue  to  make  a man  serene  and  cheerful ; and 
it  is  not  for  the  dignity  of  a philosopher  to  be  transported 
either  with  grief  or  anger;  and  then  the  end  of  anger 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


215 


is  sorrow,  the  constant  effect  of  disappointment  and  repent- 
ance. But,  to  my  purpose.  If  a man  should  be  angry  at 
wickedness,  the  greater  the  wickedness  is,  the  greater  must 
be  his  anger;  and,  so  long  as  there  is  wickedness  in  the 
world  he  must  never  be  pleased : which  makes  his  quiet 
dependent  upon  the  humor  or  manners  of  others.  There 
passes  not  a day  over  our  heads  but  he  that  is  choleric  shall 
have  some  cause  or  other  of  displeasure,  either  from  men, 
accidents,  or  business.  He  shall  never  stir  out  of  his  house 
but  he  shall  meet  with  criminals  of  all  sorts;  prodigal,  im- 
pudent, covetous,  perfidious,  contentious,  children  persecut- 
ing their  parents,  parents  cursing  their  children,  the  inno- 
cent accused,  the  delinquent  acquitted,  and  the  judge  prac- 
tising that  in  his  chamber  which  he  condemns  upon  the 
bench.  In  fine,  wherever  there  are  men  there  are  faults ; 
and  upon  these  terms,  Socrates  himself  should  never  bring 
the  same  countenance  home  again  that  he  carried  out  with 
him. 

If  anger  were  sufferable  in  any  case,  it  might  be  allowed 
against  an  incorrigible  criminal  under  the  ^ 

hand  of  justice:  but  punishment  is  not  mat-  and  temperati 
ter  of  anger  but  of  caution.  The  law  is  with- 
out passion,  and  strikes  malefactors  as  we  do  serpents  and 
venomous  creatures,  for  fear  of  greater  mischief.  It  is  not 
for  the  dignity  of  a judge,  when  he  comes  to  pronounce  the 
fatal  sentence,  to  express  any  motions  of  anger  in  his  looks, 
words,  or  gestures:  for  he  condemns  the  vice,  not  the  man; 
and  looks  upon  the  wickedness  without  anger,  as  he  does 
upon  the  prosperity  of  wicked  men  without  envy.  But 
though  he  be  not  angry,  I would  have  him  a little  moved  in 
point  of  humanity;  but  yet  without  any  offence,  either  to 
his  place  or  wisdom.  Our  passions  vary,  but  reason  is 
equal ; and  it  were  a great  folly  for  that  which  is  stable, 
faithful,  and  sound,  to  repair  for  succor  to  that  which  is 
uncertain,  false,  and  distempered.  If  the  offender  be  incu- 
rable, take  him  out  of  the  world,  that  if  he  will  not  be  good 
he  may  cease  to  be  evil ; but  this  must  be  without  anger  too. 
Does  any  man  hate  an  arm,  or  a leg,  when  he  cuts  it  off;  or 
reckon  that  a passion  which  is  only  a miserable  cure  1 We 
knock  mad  dogs  on  the  head,  and  remove  scabbed  sheep  out 
of  the  fold  : and  this  is  not  anger  still,  but  reason,  to  sepa- 
rate the  sick  from  the  sound.  Justice  cannot  be  angry  ; nor 
is  there  any  need  of  an  angry  magistrate  for  the  punish- 


216 


SENECA  OF  ANGEK. 


inent  of  foolish  and  wicked  men.  The  power  of  life  and 
death  must  not  be  managed  with  passion.  We  give  a horse 
the  spur  that  is  restive  or  jadish,  and  tries  to  cast  his  rider; 
but  this  is  without  anger  too,  and  only  to  take  down  his 
stomach,  and  bring  him,  by  correction,  to  obedience. 

It  is  true,  that  correction  is  necessary,  yet  within  reason 

Correctionis  bounds;  for  it  does  not  hurt,  but  profits 
necessary,  but  US  under  an  appearance  of  harm.  Ill  disposi- 
withm  bountis.  tions  in  the  mind  are  to  be  dealt  with  as  those 
in  the  body : the  physician  first  tries  purging  and  abstinence ; 
if  this  will  not  do,  he  proceeds  to  bleeding,  nay,  to  dismem- 
bering rather  than  fail;  for  there  is  no  operation  too  se- 
vere that  ends  in  health.  The  public  magistrate  begins 
with  persuasion,  and  his  business  is  to  beget  a detestation 
tor  vice,  and  a veneration  for  virtue ; from  thence,  if  need 
be,  he  advances  to  admonition  and  reproach,  and  then  to 
punishments ; but  moderate  and  revocable,  unless  the  wick- 
edness be  inourable,  and  then  the  punishment  must  be  so 
too.  There  is  only  this  difference,  the  physician  when  he 
cannot  save  his  patient’s  life,  endeavors  to  make  his  death 
easy ; but  the  magistrate  aggravates  the  death  of  the  crimi- 
nal with  infamy  and  digrace ; not  as  delighting  in  the  se- 
verity of  it,  (for  no  good  man  can  be  so  barbarous)  but  for 
example,  and  to  the  end  that  they  that  will  do  no  good  liv- 
ing may  do  some  dead.  The  end  of  all  correction  is  either 
the  amendment  of  wicked  men,  or  to  prevent  the  influence 
of  ill  example : for  men  are  punished  with  a respect  to  the 
future ; not  to  expiate  offences  committed,  but  for  fear  of 
worse  to  come.  Public  offenders  must  be  a terror  to  others; 
but  still,  all  this  while,  the  power  of  life  and  death  must  not 
be  managed  with  passion.  The  medicine,  in  the  mean  time, 
must  be  suited  to  the  disease  ; infamy  cures  one,  pain  an 
other,  exile  cures  a third,  beggary  a fourth ; but  there  are 
some  that  are  only  to  be  cured  by  the  gibbet.  I would 
be  no  more  angry  with  a thief,  or  a traitor,  than  I am  angry 
with  myself  when  I open  a vein.  All  punishment  is  but 
a moral  or  civil  remedy.  I do  not  do  any  thing  that  is  very 
dl,  but  yet  I transgress  often.  Try  me  first  with  a private 
reprehension,  and  then  with  a public;  if  that  will  not  serve, 
see  what  banishment  will  do;  if  not  that  neither,  load  me 
with  chains,  lay  me  in  prison : but  if  I should  prove  wicked 
for  wickedness’  sake,  and  leave  no  hope  of  reclaiming  me, 
it  would  be  a kind  of  mercy  to  destroy  me.  Vice  is  incor- 


SENECA  OF  ANOER.  217 

porated  wil.n  me ; and  there  is  no  remedy  but  the  taking  of 
both  away  together ; but  still  without  anger. 


CHAP.  VI. 

Anger  in  general,  with  the  danger  and  effects  of  it. 

There  is  no  surer  argument  of  a great  mind  than  not  to 
be  transported  to  anger  by  any  accident;  the  clouds  and 
the  tempests  are  formed  below,  but  all  above  is  quiet  and 
serene  ; which  is  the  emblem  of  a brave  man,  that  suppresses 
all  provocations,  and  lives  within  himself,  modest,  vene- 
rable, and  composed : whereas  anger  is  a turbulent  humor, 
which,  at  first  dash,  casts  off  all  shame,  without  any  regard 
to  order,  measure,  or  good  manners;  transporting  a man 
into  misbecoming  violences  with  his  tongue,  his  hands,  and 
every  part  of  his  body.  And  whoever  considers  the  foulness 
and  the  brutality  of  this  vice,  must  acknowledge  that  there  is 
no  such  monster  in  Nature  as  one  man  raging  against  an- 
other, and  laboring  to  sink  that  which  can  never  be  drowned 
but  with  himself  for  company.  It  renders  us  incapable  either 
of  discourse  or  of  other  common  duties.  It  is  of  all  passions 
the  most  powerful ; for  it  makes  a man  that  is  in  love  to 
kill  his  mistress,  the  ambitious  man  to  trample  upon  his  hon- 
ors, and  the  covetous  to  throw  away  his  fortune.  There  is 
not  any  mortal  that  lives  free  from  the  danger  of  it;  for  it 
makes  even  the  heavy  and  the  good-natured  to  be  fierce 
and  outrageous : it  invades  us  like  a pestilence,  the  lusty  as 
well  as  the  weak ; and  it  is  not  either  strength  of  body,  or 
a good  diet,  that  can  secure  us  against  it;  nay,  the  mos* 
learned,  and  men  otherwise  of  exemplary  sobriety,  are  in 
fected  with  it.  It  is  so  potent  a passion  that  Socrates  durst 
not  trust  himself  with  it.  “ Sirrah,”  says  he  to  his  man, 
“ now  would  I beat  you,  if  I were  not  angry  with  you  !” 
There  is  no  age  or  sect  of  men  that  escapes  it.  Other  vices 
take  us  one  by  one;  but  this,  like  an  epidemical  contagion, 
sweeps  all : men,  women,  and  children,  princes  and  beg 
gars,  are  carried  away  with  it  in  shoals  and  troops  as  one 
mail.  It  was  never  seen  that  a whole  nation  was  in  love 
with  one  woman,  or  unanimously  bent  upon  one  vice:  but 
here  and  there  sot  \e  particular  men  are  tainted  with  some 
particular  crimes ; vhereas  in  anger,  a single  word  many 
T 


218 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


times  inflames  the  whole  multitude,  and  men  betake  them 
selves  presently  to  fire  and  sword  upon  it;  the  rabble  take 
upon  them  to  give  laws  to  their  governors;  the  com- 
mon soldiers  to  their  officers,  to  the  ruin,  not  only  of  pri- 
vate families,  but  of  kingdoms : turning  their  arms  against 
their  own  leaders,  and  choosing  their  own  generals.  There 
is  no  public  council,  no  putting  things  to  the  vote ; but  in  a 
rage  the  mutineers  divide  from  the  senate,  name  their  head, 
force  the  nobility  in  their  own  houses,  and  put  them  to  death 
with  their  own  hands.  The  laws  of  nations  are  violated,  the 
persons  of  public  ministers  affronted,  whole  cities  infected 
with  a general  madness,  and  no  respite  allowed  for  the 
abatement  or  discussing  of  this  public  tumor.  The  ships 
are  crowded  with  tumultuary  soldiers ; and  in  this  rude  and 
ill-boding  manner  they  march,  and  act  under  the  conduct 
only  of  their  own  passions.  Whatever  comes  next  serves 
them  for  arms,  until  at  last  they  pay  for  their  licentious 
rashness  with  the  slaughter  of  the  whole  party:  this  is  the 
event  of  a heady  and  inconsiderate  war.  When  men's 
minds  are  struck  w'ith  the  opinion  of  an  injury,  they  fall  on 
immediately  wheresoever  their  passion  leads  them,  without 
either  order,  fear,  or  caution  ; provoking  their  own  mischief 
neverat  rest  till  they  come  to  blows;  and  pursuing  their 
revenge,  even  with  their  bodies,  upon  the  points  of  their 
enemies’  weapons.  So  that  the  anger  itself  is  much  more 
hurtful  for  us  than  the  injury  that  provokes  it ; for  the  one 
is  bounded,  but  where  the  other  will  stop,  no  man  living 
knows.  There  are  no  greater  slaves  certainly,  than  those 
that  serve  anger ; for  they  improve  their  misfortunes  by  an 
impatience  more  insupportable  than  the  calamity  that 
causes  it. 

Nor  does  if  rise  by  degrees,  as  other  passions,  but  flashes 
like  gunpowder,  blowing  up  all  in  a moment. 
ai]"iffa  moment!  Neither  does  it  only  press  to  the  mark,  but 
overbears  every  thing  in  the  way  to  it.  Other 
vices  drive  us,  but  this  hurries  us  headlong;  other  passions 
stand  firm  themselves,  though  perhaps  wo  cannot  resist 
them;  but  this  consumes  and  destroys  itself;  it  falls  like 
thunder  or  a tempest,  with  an  irrevocable  violence,  that 
gathers  strength  in  the  passage,  and  then  evaporates  in  the 
conclusion.  Other  vices  are  unreasonable,  but  this  is  un- 
heallhfid  too  ; other  distempers  have  their  intervals  and  de- 
grees, but  in  this  we  are  thrown  down  as  from  a precipice: 
there  is  not  any  thing  so  amazing  to  others,  or  so  destruo 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


219 


live  to  itself;  so  proud  and  insolent  if  it  succeeds,  or  so  ex- 
travagant if  it  be  disappointed.  No  repulse  discourages  it, 
and,  tor  want  of  other  matter  to  work  upon,  it  falls  foul 
upon  itself;  and,  let  the  ground  be  never  so  trivial,  it  is 
sufficient  for  the  wildest  outrage  imaginable.  It  spares 
neither  age,  sex,  nor  quality.  Some  people  would  be  luxu- 
rious perchance,  but  that  they  are  poor ; and  others  lazy,  if 
they  were  not  perpetually  kept  at  work.  The  simplicity  of  a 
country  life,  keeps  many  men  in  ignorance  of  the  frauds  and 
impieties  of  courts  and  camps:  but  no  nation  or  condition 
of  men  is  exempt  from  the  impressions  of  anger ; and  it  is 
equally  dangerous,  as  well  in  war  as  in  peace.  We  find  that 
elephants  will  be  made  familiar ; bulls  will  suffer  children 
to  ride  upon  their  backs,  and  play  with  their  horns ; bears 
and  lions,  by  good  usage,  will  be  brought  to  fawn  upon  their 
masters ; how  desperate  a madness  is  it  then  for  men,  after 
the  reclaiming  the  fiercest  of  beasts,  and  the  bringing  of 
them  to  be  tractable  and  domestic,  to  become  yet  worse  than 
beasts  one  to  another  ! Alexander  had  two  friends,  Clytus 
and  Lysimachus;  the  one  he  exposed  to  a lion,  the  other  to 
himself;  and  he  that  was  turned  loose  to  the  beast  escaped. 
Why  do  we  not  rather  make  the  best  of  a short  life,  and  ren- 
der ourselves  amiable  to  all  while  we  live,  and  desirable 
when  we  die! 

Let  us  bethink  ourselves  of  our  mortality,  and  not  squan- 
der away  the  little  time  that  we  have  upon 
animosities  and  feuds,  as  if  it  were  never  to  be  time  as  well  as 
at  an  end.  Had  we  not  better  enjoy  the  plea-  of  peace, 
sure  of  our  own  life  than  to  be  still  contriving  how  to  gall 
and  torment  another’s]  in  all  our  brawlings  and  contentions 
never  so  much  as  dreaming  of  our  weakness.  Do  we  not 
know  that  these  implacable  enmities  of  ours  lie  at  the  mercy 
of  a fever,  or  any  petty  accident,  to  disappoint!  Our  fate  is 
at  hand,  and  the  very  hour  that  we  have  set  for  another 
man’s  death  may  peradventure  be  prevented  by  our  own. 
What  is  it  that  we  make  all  this  bustle  for,  and  so  need- 
lessly disquiet  our  minds]  We  are  offended  with  our  ser- 
vants, our  masters,  our  princes,  our  clients:  it  is  but  a little 
patience,  and  we  shall  be  all  of  us  equal ; so  that  there  is 
no  need  either  of  ambushes  or  of  combats.  Our  wrath  can- 
not go  beyond  death ; and  death  will  most  undoubtedly 
come  whether  we  be  peevish  or  quiet.  It  is  time  lost  to 
take  pains  to  do  that  which  will  infallibly  be  done  withou* 


220 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


US.  But  suppose  that  we  would  only  have  our  enemy  Lan- 
ished,  disgraced,  or  damaged,  let  his  punishment  be  more 
or  less,  it  is  yet  too  long,  either  for  him  to  be  inhumanly 
tormented,  or  for  us  ourselves  to  be  most  barbarously  pleas- 
ed with  it.  It  holds  in  anger  as  in  mourning,  it  must  and  it 
will  at  last  fall  of  itself;  let  us  look  to  it  then  betimes,  for 
when  it  is  once  come  to  an  ill  habit,  we  shall  never  want 
matter  to  feed  it;  and  it  is  much  better  to  overcome  our 
passions  than  to  be  overcome  by  them.  Some  way  or  other, 
either  our  parents,  children,  servants,  acquaintance,  or 
strangers,  will  be  continually  vexing  us.  We  are  tossiMl 
hither  and  thither  by  our  affections,  like  a feather  in  a storm, 
and  by  fresh  provocations  the  madness  becomes  perpetual. 
Miserable  creatures ! that  ever  our  precious  hours  should 
be  so  ill  employed  ! How  prone  and  eager  are  we  in  our 
hatred,  and  how  backward  in  our  love!  Were  it  not  much 
better  now  to  be  making  of  friendships,  pacifying  of  enemies, 
doing  of  good  offices  both  public  and  private,  than  to  be  still 
meditating  of  mischief,  and  designing  how  to  wound  one 
man  in  his  fame,  another  in  his  fortune,  a third  in  his  per- 
son 1 the  one  being  so  easy,  innocent,  and  safe,  and  the 
other  so  difficult,  impious,  and  hazardous.  Nay,  take  a 
man  in  chains,  and  at  the  foot  of  his  oppressor;  how  many 
are  there,  who,  even  in  this  case,  have  maimed  themselves 
in  the  heat  of  their  violence  upon  others ! 

This  untractable  passion  is  much  more  easily  kept  out 
Anger  may  be  governed  when  it  is  once  admitted;  for 
better  kept  out  the  Stronger  will  give  laws  to  the  weaker; 
than  governed,  ^nd  make  reason  a slave  to  the  appetite.  It 
carries  us  headlong;  and  in  the  course  of  our  fury,  we  have 
no  more  command  of  our  minds,  than  we  have  of  our  bodies 
dow'n  a precipice : when  they  are  once  in  motion,  there  is 
no  stop  until  they  come  to  the  bottom.  Not  but  that  it  is 
possible  for  a man  to  be  warm  in  winter,  and  not  to  sweat  in 
the  summer,  either  by  the  benefit  of  the  place,  or  the  hardi- 
ness of  the  body : and  in  like  manner  we  may  provide  against 
anger.  But  certain  it  is,  that  virtue  and  vice  can  never 
agree  in  the  same  subject;  and  one  may  be  as  well  a sick 
man  and  a sound  at  the  same  time,  as  a good  man,  and  an 
angry.  Besides,  if  we  will  needs  be  quarrelsome,  it  must 
be  either  with  our  superior,  our  equal,  or  inferior.  To  con- 
tend with  our  superior  is  folly  and  madne.ss : with  our  equals, 
it  is  doubtful  and  dangerous ; and  with  our  inferiors,  it  is 
base.  For  does  any  man  know  but  that  he  that  is  now  our 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


221 


enemy  may  come  hereafter  to  be  our  friend,  over  and  above 
the  reputation  of  clemency  and  good-nature]  And  what 
can  be  more  honorable  or  comfortable,  than  to  exchange  a 
feud  for  a friendship  ] the  people  of  Rome  never  had  more 
faithful  allies  than  those  that  were  at  first  the  most  obstinate 
enemies;  neither  had  the  Roman  empire  ever  arrived  at 
that  height  of  power,  if  Providence  had  not  mingled  the 
vanquished  with  the  conquerors.  There  is  an  end  of  the 
contest  when  one  side  deserts  it ; so  that  the  paying  of  an- 
ger with  benefits  puts  a period  to  the  controversy.  But, 
however,  if  it  be  our  fortune  to  transgress,  let  not  our  anger 
descend  to  the  children,  friends,  or  relations,  even  of  our 
bitterest  enemies.  The  very  cruelty  of  Sylla  was  height- 
ened by  that  instance  of  incapacitating  the  issue  of  the  pro- 
scribed. It  is  inhuman  to  entail  the  hatred  we  have  for 
the  father  upon  his  posterity.  A good  and  a wise  man  is 
not  to  be  an  enemy  of  wicked  men,  but  a reprover  of  them  • 
and  he  is  to  look  upon  all  the  drunkards,  the  lustful,  the 
thankless,  covetous,  and  ambitious,  that  he  meets  with,  no 
otherwise  than  as  a physician  looks  upon  his  patients;  for 
he  that  will  be  angry  with  any  man  must  be  displeased  with 
all ; which  were  as  ridiculous  as  to  quarrel  with  a body  for 
stumbling  in  the  dark ; with  one  that  is  deaf,  for  not  doing 
as  you  bid  him ; or  with  a school-boy  for  loving  his  play 
better  than  his  book.  Democritus  laughed,  and  Heraclitus 
wept,  at  the  folly  and  wickedness  of  the  world,  but  we 
never  read  of  an  angry  philosopher. 

This  is  undoubtedly  the  most  detestable  of  vices,  even 
compared  with  the  worst  of  them.  Avarice  the  most 
scrapes  and  gathers  together  that  which  some-  detestable  of 
body  may  be  the  better  for ; but  anger  lashes 
out,  and  no  man  comes  q^‘ gratis.  An  angry  master  makes 
one  servant  run  away,  and  another  hang  himself;  and  his 
choler  causes  him  a much  greater  loss  than  he  suffered  in 
the  occasion  of  it.  It  is  the  cause  of  mourning  to  the  father, 
and  of  divorce  to  the  husband  : it  makes  the  magistrate  odious, 
and  gives  the  candidate  a repulse.  And  it  is  worse  than 
luxury  too,  which  only  aims  at  its  proper  pleasure  ; whereas 
the  other  is  bent  upon  another  body’s  pain.  The  malevo- 
lent and  the  envious  content  themselves  only  to  wish  another 
man  miserable ; but  it  is  the  business  of  anger  to  make  him 
so,  and  to  wreck  the  mischief  itself;  not  so  much  desiring 
the  hurt  of  another,  as  to  inflict  it.  Among  the  pcwer^ul, 
T 2 


222 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


It  breaks  out  into  open  war,  and  into  a private  one  with  the 
common  people,  but  without  force  or  arms.  It  engages  us 
■n  treacheries,  perpetual  troubles  and  contentions;  it  alters 
the  very  nature  of  a man,  and  punishes  itself  in  the  persecu- 
tion of  others.  Humanity  excites  us  to  love,  this  to  hatred; 
that  to  be  beneficial  to  others,  this  to  hurt  them : beside, 
that,  though  it  proceeds  from  too  high  a conceit  of  ourselves, 
it  is  yet,  in  etfect,  but  a narrow  and  contemptible  affection  ; 
especially  when  it  meets  with  a mind  that  is  hard  and  im- 
penetrable, and  returns  the  dart  upon  the  head  of  him  that 
casts  it. 

To  take  a farther  view,  now,  of  the  miserable  conse- 
, quences  and  sanguinary  effects  of  this  hideous 

eiiucts  of  anger. from  hence  come  slaughters  and 
poisons,  wars,  and  desolations,  the  razing  and 
burning  of  cities;  the  unpeopling  of  nations,  and  the  turn- 
ing of  populous  countries  into  deserts;  public  massacres  and 
regicides;  princes  led  in  triumph;  some  murdered  in  their 
bed-cliambers  ; others  stabbed  in  the  senate,  or  cut  off  in  the 
security  of  their  spectacles  and  pleasures.  Some  there  are 
that  take  anger  for  a princely  quality ; as  Darius,  who,  in 
his  expedition  against  the  Scythians,  being  besought  by  a 
nobleman,  that  had  three  sons,  that  he  would  vouchsafe  to 
accept  of  two  of  them  into  his  service,  and  leave  the  third 
at  home  for  a comfort  to  his  father.  “ I will  do  more  for 
you  than  that,”  says  Darius,  “for  you  shall  have  them  all 
three  again so  he  ordered  them  to  be  slain  before  his  face, 
nd  left  him  their  bodies.  But  Xerxes  dealt  a little  better 
with  Pythius,  who  had  five  sons,  and  desired  only  one  of  them 
for  himself.  Xerxes  bade  him  take  his  choice,  and  he  named 
the  eldest,  whom  he  immediately  commanded  to  be  cut  in 
halves;  and  one  half  of  the  body  to  be  laid  on  each  side  of 
the  way  when  his  army  was  to  pass  betwixt  them ; un- 
doubtedly a most  auspicious  sacrifice ; but  he  came  afterward 
to  the  end  that  he  deserved;  for  he  lived  to  see  that  pro- 
digious power  scattered  and  broken:  and  instead  of  mili- 
tary and  victorious  troops,  to  be  encompassed  with  car- 
casses. But  these,  you  will  say,  were  only  barbarous 
princes,  that  knew  neither  civility  nor  letters;  and  these 
savage  cruelties  will  be  imputed  perchance  to  their  rude- 
ness of  manners,  nnd  want  of  discipline.  But  what  will 
you  say  then  of  Alexander  tlie  Great,  that  was  trained  up 
under  the  institution  of  Aristotle  himself,  and  killed  Clytus, 
Ids  favorite  and  school-fellow,  with  his  own  hand,  under  his 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


f)wn  roof,  and  over  the  freedom  of  a cup  of  wine  ? And  what 
was  his  crime  1 He  was  loth  to  degenerate  from  a Macedo- 
nian liberty  into  a Persian  slavery  ; that  is  to  say,  he  could 
not  flatter.  Lysimachus,  another  of  his  friends,  he  ex- 
posed to  a lion;  and  this  very  Lysimachus,  after  he  had  es- 
caped this  danger,  was  never  the  more  merciful  when  he 
came  to  reign  himself;  for  he  cut  off  the  ears  and  nose 
of  his  friend  Telesphorus;  and  when  he  had  so  disfigured 
him  that  he  had  no  longer  the  face  of  a man,  he  threw  him 
into  a dungeon,  and  there  kept  him  to  be  showed  for  a mon- 
ster, as  a strange  sight.  The  place  wsis  so  low  that  he  was 
fain  to  creep  upon  all  fours,  and  his  sides  were  galled  too 
with  the  straitness  of  it.  In  this  misery  he  lay  half-famished 
in  his  own  filth ; so  odious,  so  terrible,  and  so  lolhesome  a 
spectacle,  that  the  horror  of  his  condition  had  even  extin- 
guished all  pity  for  him.  “Nothing  was  ever  so  unlike  a 
man  as  the  poor  wretch  that  suffered  this,  saving  the  tyrant 
that  acted  it.” 

Nor  did  this  merciless  hardness  only  exercise  itself  among 
foreigners,  but  the  fierceness  of  their  outrages  crueii  of 
and  punishments,  as  well  as  their  vices,  brake  ^ ® sylfa.^  ° 
in  upon  the  Romans.  C.  Marius,  that  had  his 
statue  set  up  everywhere,  and  was  adored  as  a God,  L. 
Sylla  commanded  his  bones  to  be  broken,  his  eyes  to  be 
pulled  out,  his  hands  to  be  cut  off;  and,  as  if  every  wound 
had  been  a several  death,  his  body  to  be  torn  to  pieces,  and 
Catiline  was  the  executioner.  A cruelty  that  was  only  fit 
for  Marius  to  suffer,  Sylla  to  command,  and  Catiline  to  act ; 
but  most  dishonorable  and  fatal  to  the  commonwealth,  to 
fall  indifferently  upon  the  sword’s  point  both  of  citizens  and 
of  enemies. 

It  was  a severe  instance,  that  of  Piso  too.  A soldier  that 
had  leave  to  go  abroad  with  his  comrade,  came 
back  to  the  camp  at  his  time,  but  without  his  ^eruVoTpfs^' 
companion.  Piso  condemns  him  to  die,  as  if 
he  had  killed  him,  and  appoints  a centurion  to  se'»  the  exe- 
cution. Just  as  the  headsman  was  ready  to  do  his  office, 
the  other  soldier  appeared,  to  the  great  joy  of  the  whole 
field,  and  the  centurion  bade  the  executioner  hold  his  hand 
Hereupon  Piso,  in  a rage,  mounts  the  tribunal,  and  sen- 
tences all  three  to  death:  the  one  because  he  was  con- 
demned, the  other  because  it  was  for  his  sake  that  his  fel- 
low-soldier was  condemned,  the  centurion  for  not  obeying 
the  order  of  his  superior.  An  ingenious  piece  of  inhumanity, 


224 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


to  contrive  how  to  make  three  criminals,  where  effectively 
there  were  none.  There  was  a Persian  king  that  caused  the 
noses  of  a whole  nation  to  be  cut  off,  and  they  were  to  thank 
him  that  he  spared  their  heads.  And  this,  perhaps,  would 
have  been  the  fate  of  the  Macrobii,  (if  Providence  had  not 
hindered  it,)  for  the  freedom  they  used  to  Cambyses’s  ambas- 
sadors, in  not  accepting  the  slavish  terms  that  were  offered 
them.  This  put  Cambyses  into  such  a rage,  that  he  presently 
listed  into  his  service  every  man  that  was  able  to  bear  arms; 
and,  without  either  provisions  or  guides,  marched  imme- 
diately through  dry  and  barren  deserts,  and  where  never 
any  man  had  passed  before  him,  to  take  his  revenge.  Be- 
fore he  was  a third  part  of  the  way,  his  provisions  failed 
him.  His  men,  at  first,  made  shift  with  the  buds  of  trees, 
boiled  leather,  and  the  like;  but  soon  after  there  was  not 
so  much  as  a root  or  a plant  to  be  gotten,  nor  a living  crea- 
ture to  be  seen ; and  then  by  lot  every  tenth  man  was  to 
die  for  a nourishment  to  the  rest,  which  was  still  worse 
than  the  famine.  But  yet  this  passionate  king  went  on  so 
far,  until  one  part  of  his  army  was  lost,  and  the  other  de- 
voured, and  until  he  feared  that  he  himself  might  come  to  be 
served  with  the  same  sauce.  So  that  at  last  he  ordered  a re- 
treat, wanting  no  delicates  all  this  while  for  himself,  while 
his  soldiers  were  taking  their  chance  who  should  die  mise- 
rably, or  live  worse.  Here  was  an  anger  taken  up  against 
a whole  nation,  that  neither  deserved  any  ill  from  him,  nor 
was  so  much  as  known  to  him. 


CHAP.  VII. 

The  ordinary  grounds  and  occasions  of  anger. 

In  this  wandering  state  of  life  we  meet  with  many  occa- 
sions of  ‘rouble  and  displeasure,  both  great  and  trivial; 
nd  not  a day  passes  but,  from  men  or  things,  we  have 
some  cause  or  other  for  offence ; as  a man  must  expect  to 
bejustled,  dashed,  and  crowded,  in  a populous  city.  One 
man  deceives  our  expectation;  another  delays  it;  and  a 
third  crosses  it;  and  if  every  thing  does  not  succeed  to  our 
wish,  we  presently  fall  out  either  with  the  person,  the  busi- 
ness, the  place,  our  fortune,  or  ourselves.  Some  men  value 
themselves  upon  their  wit,  and  will  never  forgive  any  one 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


225 


that  pretends  to  lessen  it;  others  are  inflamed  by  wine  ; and 
some  are  distempered  by  sickness,  weariness,  watchings, 
love,  care,  &c.  Some  are  prone  to  it,  by  heat  of  constitu- 
tion ; but  moist,  dry,  and  cold  complexions  are  more  liable 
to  other  affections;  as  suspicion,  despair,  fear,  jealousy,  &c. 
But  most  of  our  quarrels  are  of  our  own  contriving.  One 
while  we  suspect  upon  mistake ; and  another  while  we 
make  a great  matter  of  trifles.  To  say  the  truth,  most  of 
those  things  that  exasperate  us  are  rather  subjects  of  dis- 
gust than  of  mischief:  there  is  a large  difference  betwixt 
opposing  a man’s  satisfaction  and  not  assisting  it:  betwixt 
taking  away  and  not  giving ; but  we  reckon  upon  denying 
and  as  the  same  thing;  and  interpret  another’s 

beingjfor  himself  as  if  he  were  against  us.  Nay,  we  do 
many  times  entertain  an  ill  opinion  of  well  doing,  and  a good 
one  of  the  contrary  : and  we  hate  a man  for  doing  that  very 
thing  which  we  should  hate  him  for  on  the  other  side,  if  he 
did  not  do  it.  We  take  it  ill  to  be  opposed  when  there  is 
a father  perhaps,  a brother,  or  a friend,  in  the  case  against 
us;  when  we  should  rather  love  a man  for  it;  and  only 
wish  that  he  could  be  honestly  of  our  party.  We  approve 
of  the  fact,  and  detest  the  doer  of  it.  It  is  a base  thing  to 
hate  the  person  whom  we  cannot  but  commend  ; but  it  is  a 
great  deal  worse  yet  if  we  hate  him  for  the  very  thing  that 
deserves  commendation.  The  things  that  we  desire,  if  they 
be  such  as  cannot  be  given  to  one  without  being  taken  away 
from  another,  must  needs  set  those  people  together  by  the 
ears  that  desire  the  same  thing.  One  man  has  a design 
upon  my  mistress,  another  upon  mine  inheritance ; and  that 
which  should  make  friends  makes  enemies,  our  being  all  of 
a mind.  The  general  cause  of  anger  is  the  sense  or  opinion 
of  an  injury ; that  is,  the  opinion  either  of.an  injury  simply 
done,  or  of  an  injury  done,  which  we  have  not  deserved. 
Some  are  naturally  given  to  anger,  others  are  provoked  to 
it  by  occasion ; the  anger  of  women  and  children  is  com- 
monly sharp,  but  not  lasting : old  men  are  rather  querulous 
and  peevish.  Hard  labor,  diseases,  anxiety  of  thought,  and 
whatsoever  hurts  the  body  or  the  mind,  disposes  a man  to 
be  froward,  but  we  must  not  add  fire  to  fire. 

He  that  duly  considers  the  subject-matter  of  all  our  con- 
troversies and  quarrels,  will  find  them  low  The  subject  of 
and  mean,  not  worth  the  thought  of  a gene- <»“■  'V>‘ 

rolls  mind;  but  the  greatest  noise  of  all  jg ‘he while, 
about  money.  This  is  it  that  sets  fathers  and  children  to- 


226 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


«■ether  by  the  ears,  husbands  and  wives;  and  makes  way 
for  sword  and  poison.  This  is  it  that  tires  out  courts  of 
justice,  enrages  princes,  and  lays  cities  in  the  dust,  to  seek 
flir  gold  and  silver  in  the  ruins  of  them.  This  is  it  that 
finds  work  for  the  judge  to  determine  which  side  is  least  in 
the  wrong;  and  whose  is  the  more  plausible  avarice,  the 
plaintiff’s  or  the  defendant’s.  And  what. is  it  that  we  contend 
for  all  this  while,  but  those  baubles  that  make  us  cry  when 
wo  should  laugh  1 To  see  a rich  old  cuff,  that  has  nobody  to 
leave  his  estate  to,  break  his  heart  for  a handful  of  dirt ; and 
' gouty  usurer,  that  has  no  other  use  of  his  fingers  left  him 
but  to  count  withal ; to  see  him,  I say  in  the  extremity  of 
his  fit,  wrangling  for  the  odd  money  in  his  interest.  If  all 
that  is  precious  in  Nature  were  gathered  into  one  mass,  it 
were  not  worth  the  trouble  of  a sober  mind.  It  were  endless 
to  run  over  all  those  ridiculous  passions  that  are  moved  about 
meats  and  drinks,  and  the  matter  of  our  luxury ; nay,  about 
words,  looks,  actions,  jealousies,  mistakes,  which  are  all  of 
them  as  contemptible  fooleries  as  those  very  baubles  that 
children  scratch  and  cry  for.  .There  is  nothing  great  or  seri- 
ous in  all  that  which  we  keep  such  a clutter  about;  the  mad- 
ness of  it  is,  that  we  set  too  great  a value  upon  trifles.  One 
man  flies  out  upon  a salute,  a letter,  a speech,  a question,  a 
gesture,  a wink,  a look.  An  action  moves  one  man ; a word 
affects  another  ; one  man  is  tender  of  his  family  ; another 
of  his  person  ; one  sets  up  for  an  orator,  another  for  a phi- 
losopher : this  man  will  not  bear  pride,  nor  that  man  opposi- 
tion. He  that  plays  the  tyrant  at  home,  is  gentle  as  a 
lamb  abroad.  Some  take  offence  if  a man  ask  a favor  of 
them,  and  others,  if  he  does  not.  Every  man  has  his  weak 
side ; let  us  learn  which  that  is,  and  take  a care  of  it ; for 
the  same  thing  does  not  work  upon  all  men  alike.  We  are 
moved  like  beasts  at  the  idle  appearances  of  things,  and  the 
fiercer  the  creature,  the  more  is  it  startled.  The  sight  of  a 
red  coat  enrages  a bull ; a shadow  provokes  the  asp ; nay, 
so  unreasonable  are  some  men,  that  they  take  moderate 
benefits  for  injuries,  and  squabble  about  it  with  their  nearest 
relations:  “They  have  done  this  and  that  for  others,”  they 
cry ; “and  they  might  have  dealt  better  with  us  if  they  had 
pleased.”  Very  good ! And  if  it  be  less  than  we  looked  for, 
it  may  be  yet  more  than  we  deserve.  Of  all  unquiet 
humors  this  is  the  worst,  that  will  never  suffer  any  man 
to  be  happy,  so  long  as  he  sees  a happier  man  than  himself. 
I have  known  some  men  so  weak  as  to  think  themselves 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


297 


contemned,  if  a horse  did  but  play  the  jade  with  them,  that 
is  yet  obedient  to  another  rider.  A brutal  folly  to  bn 
offended  at  a mute  animal ; for  no  injury  can  be  done  us 
without  the  concurrence  of  reason.  A beast  may  hurt  us, 
as  a sword  or  a stone,  and  no  otherwise.  Nay,  there  are 
that  will  complain  of  “foul  weather,  a fag-ing  sea,  a biting 
winter,”  as  if  it  were  expressly  directed  to  them ; and  this 
they  charge  upon  Providence,  whose  operations  are  all  of 
them  so  far  from  being  injurious,  that  they  are  beneficial 
to  us. 

How  vain  and  idle  are  many  of  those  things  that  make 
us  stark  mad  ! A resty  horse,  the  overturning 
of  a glass,  the  falling  of  a key,  the  dragging  for 
of  a chair,  a jealousy,  a misconstruction.  How 
shall  that  man  endure  the  extremities  of  hunger  and  thirst 
that  flies  out  into  a rage  for  putting  of  a little  too  much 
water  in  his  wine?  What  haste  is  there  to  lay  a servant  by 
the  heels,  or  break  a leg  or  an  arm  immediately  for  it,  as  if 
he  were  not  to  have  the  same  power  over  him  an  hour  after, 
that  he  has  at  that  instant?  The  answer  of  a servant,  a wife, 
a tenant,  puts  some  people  out  of  all  patience ; and  yet 
they  can  quarrel  with  the  government,  for  not  allowing 
them  the  same  liberty  in  public,  which  they  themselves  deny 
to  their  own  families.  If  they  say  nothing,  it  is  contu- 
macy : if  they  speak  or  laugh,  it  is  insolence.  As  if  a man 
had  his  ears  given  him  only  for  music  ; whereas  we  must 
suffer  all  sorts  of  noises,  good  and  bad,  both  of  man  and 
beast.  How  idle  is  it  to  start  at  the  tinkling  of  a bell,  or 
the  creaking  of  a door,  when,  for  all  this  delicacy,  we  must 
endure  thunder!  Neither  are  our  eyes  less  curious  and 
fantastical  than  our  ears.  When  we  are  abroad,  we  can 
bear  well  enough  with  foul  ways,  nasty  streets,  noisome 
ditches;  but  a spot  upon  a dish  at  home,  or  an  unswep 
hearth,  absolutely  distracts  us.  And  what  is  the  reason,  bu 
that  we  are  patient  in  the  one  place,  and  fantastically  peev 
ish  in  the  other  ? Nothing  makes  us  more  intemperate  tha; 
luxury,  that  shrinks  at  every  stroke,  and  starts  at  every 
shadow.  It  is  death  to  some  to  have  another  sit  above  them, 
as  if  a body  were  ever  the  more  or  the  less  honest  for  the 
cushion.  But  they  are  only  weak  creatures  that  think  them- 
selves wounded  if  they  be  but  touched.  One  of  the  Syba- 
rites, that  saw  a fellow  hard  at  work  a digging,  desired 
him  to  give  over,  for  it  made  him  weary  to  see  him : and  it 
was  an  ordinary  complaint  with  him,  that  “he  could  take  no 


2‘J3 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


rest,  because  the  rose-leaves  lay  double  under  him.”  When 
we  are  once  weakened  with  our  pleasures,  every  thing 
grows  intolerable.  And  we  are  angry  as  well  with  those 
things  that  cannot  hurt  us  as  with  those  that  do.  We  tear 
a book  because  it  is  blotted ; and  our  clothes,  because  they 
are  not  well  made;  things  that  neither  deserve  our  anger 
nor  feel  it : the  tailor,  perchance,  did  his  best,  or,  however, 
had  no  intent  to  displease  us  : if  so,  first,  why  should  we  be 
angry  at  all  1 Secondly,  why  should  we  be  angry  with  the 
thing  for  the  man’s  sake  1 Nay,  our  anger  extends  even  to 
dogs,  horses,  and  other  beasts. 

It  was  a blasphemous  and  a sottish  extra  vagance,  that  of 
The  bi,asphe-  Caesar,  who  challenged  Jupiter  for  mak- 

mous  extrava-  ing  such  a noise  with  his  thunder,  that  he 
gaiice  of  Caius  could  not  hear  his  mimics,  and  so  invented  a 
machine  in  imitation  of  it  to  oppose  thunder 
to  thunder ; a brutal  conceit,  to  imagine,  either  that  he 
could  reach  the  Almighty,  or  that  the  Almighty  could  not 
reach  him ! 

And  every  jot  as  ridiculous,  though  not  so  impious,  was 
A ridiculous  ex-  *'*^^*'  Cyrus  ; who,  in  his  design  upon  Baby- 
travagance  of  lon,  found  a river  in  his  way  that  put  a stop 
Cyrus.  jq  )j|g  fnarch : the  current  was  strong,  and 
carried  away  one  of  the  horses  that  belonged  to  his  own 
chariot:  upon  this  he  swore,  that  since  it  had  obstructed  his 
passage,  it  should  never  hinder  any  body’s  else;  and  pres- 
ently set  his  whole  array  to  work  upon  it,  which  diverted 
it  into  a hundred  and  fourscore  channels,  and  laid  it  dry.  In 
this  ignoble  and  unprofitable  employment  he  lost  his  time, 
and  the  soldiers  their  courage,  and  gave  his  adversaries  an 
opportunity  of  providing  themselves,  while  he  was  waging 
war  with  a river  instead  of  an  enemy. 


CHAP.  VIII. 

Advice  in  the  cases  of  contumely  and  revenge. 

Of  provocations  to  anger  there  are  two  sorts ; there  is 
an  injury,  and  there  is  a contumely.  The  former  in  its 
own  nature  is  the  heavier;  the  other  slight  in  itself,  and 
only  troublesome  to  a wounded  imagination.  And  yet  wme 
there  are  that  will  bear  blows,  and  death  itself,  rather  than 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


229 


contumelious  words.  A contumely  is  an  indignity  below 
the  consideration  of  the  very  law;  and  not  worthy  either 
of  a revenge,  or  so  much  as  a complaint.  It  is  only  the 
vexation  and  infirmity  of  a weak  mind,  as  well  as  the  prac- 
tice of  a haughty  and  insolent  nature,  and  signifies  no  more 
to  a wise  and  sober  man  than  an  idle  dream,  that  is  no  sooner 
past  than  forgotten.  It  is  true,  it  implies  contempt;  but 
what  needs  any  man  care  for  being  contemptible  to  others, 
if  he  be  not  so  to  himself!  For  a child  in  the  arms  to  strike 
the  mother,  tear  her  hair,  claw  the  face  of  her,  and  call  her 
names,  that  goes  for  nothing  with  us,  because  the  child 
knows  not  what  he  does.  Neither  are  we  moved  at  the 
impudence  and  bitterness  of  a bvffoon,  though  he  fall  upon 
his  own  master  as  well  as  the  guests  ; but,  on  the  contrary, 
we  encourage  and  entertain  the  freedom.  Are  we  not  mad 
then,  to  be  delighted  and  displeased  with  the  same  thing, 
and  to  take  that  as  an  injury  from  one  man,  which  passes 
only  for  a raillery  from  another ! He  that  is  wise  will  be- 
have himself  toward  all  men  as  we  do  to  our  children  ; for 
they  are  but  children  too,  though  they  have  gray  hairs : 
they  are  indeed  of  a larger  size,  and  their  errors  are  grown 
up  with  them ; they  live  without  rule,  they  covet  without 
choice,  they  are  timorous  and  unsteady;  and  if  at  any  time 
they  happen  to  be  quiet,  it  is  more  out  of  fear  than  reason. 
It  is  a wretched  condition  to  stand  in  awe  of  every  body’s 
tongue ; and  whosoever  is  vexed  at  a reproach  would  be 
proud  if  he  were  commended.  We  should  look  upon  con- 
tumelies, slanders,  and  ill  words,  only  as  the  clamor  of  ene- 
mies, or  arrows  shot  at  a distance,  that  make  a clattering 
upon  our  arms,  but  do  no  execution.  A man  makes  himself 
less  than  his  adversary  by  fancying  that  he  is  contemned. 
Things  are  only  ill  that  are  ill  taken  ; and  it  is  not  for  a 
man  of  worth  to  think  himself  better  or  worse  for  the  opinion 
of  others.  He  that  thinks  himself  injured,  let  him  say, 
“Either  I have  deserved  this,  or  I have  not.  If  I have,  it 
is  a judgment ; if  I have  not,  it  is  an  injustice : and  the  doer 
of  it  has  more  reason  to  be  ashamed  than  the  sufferers.” 
Nature  has  assigned  every  man  his  post,  which  he  is  bound 
in  honor  to  maintain,  let  him  be  never  so  much  pressed. 
Diogenes  was  disputing  of  anger,  and  an  insolent  young 
fellow,  to  try  if  he  could  put  him  beside  his  philosophy,  spit 
in  his  face : “ Young  man,”  says  Diogenes,  “ this  does  not 
make  me  angry  yet;  but  I am  in  some  doubt  whether  I 
should  be  so  or  not.”  Some  are  so  impatient  that  they  can- 
U 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


2ao 

not  bear  a contumely,  even  from  a w'oman ; whose  very 
beauty,  greatness,  and  ornaments,  are  all  of  them  little 
enough  to  vindicate  her  from  any  indecencies,  without  much 
modesty  and  discretion  ; nay,  they  will  lay  it  to  heart  even 
from  the  meanest  of  servants.  How  wretched  is  that  man 
whose  peace  lies  at  the  mercy  of  the  people!  A physician 
is  not  angry  at  the  intemperance  of  a mad  patient ; nor  does 
he  take  it  ill  to  be  railed  at  by  a man  in  a fever:  just  so 
should  a wise  man  treat  all  mankind  as  a physician  does  his 
patient;  and  looking  upon  them  only  as  sick  and  extrava- 
gant, let  their  words  and  actions,  whether  good  or  bad,  go 
equally  for  nothing,  attending  still  his  duty  even  in  the 
coarsest  offices  that  may  conduce  to  their  recovery.  Men 
that  are  proud,  froward,  and  powerful,  he  values  their  scorn 
as  little  as  their  quality,  and  looks  upon  them  no  otherwise 
than  as  people  in  the  excess  of  a fever.  If  a beggar  wor- 
ships him,  or  if  he  takes  no  notice  of  him,  it  is  all  one  to 
him ; and  with  a rich  man  he  makes  it  the  same  case. 
Their  honors  and  their  injuries  he  accounts  much  alike; 
without  rejoicing  at  the  one,  or  grieving  at  the  other. 

In  these  cases,  the  rule  is  to  pardon  all  offences,  where 
there  is  any  sign  of  repentance,  or  hope  of 
wifeie^^ther^is  amendment.  It  does  not  hold  in  injuries  as 
either  sign  of  in  benefits,  the  requiting  of  the  one  with  the 
repentance,  or  other;  for  it  is  a shame  to  overcome  in  the 
'"'^menL  one,  and  in  the  other  to  be  overcome.  It  is 

the  part  of  a great  mind  to  despise  injuries ; 
and  it  is  one  kind  of  revenge  to  neglect  a man  as  not  worth 
it : for  it  makes  the  first  aggressor  too  considerable.  Our  phi- 
losophy, methinks,  might  carry  us  up  to  the  bravery  of  a 
generous  mastiff,  that  can  hear  the  barking  of  a thousand 
curs  without  taking  any  notice  of  them.  He  that  receives 
an  injury  from  his  superior,  it  is  not  enough  for  him  to  bear 
it  with  patience,  and  without  any  thought  of  revenge,  but 
he  must  receive  it  with  a cheerful  countenance,  and  look 
as  if  he  did  not  understand  it  too ; for  if  he  appear  too  sen- 
sible, he  shall  be  sure  to  have  more  of  it.  “ It  is  a damned 
humor  in  great  men,  that  whom  they  wrong  they  will  hate.” 
It  is  well  answered  of  an  old  courtier,  that  was  asked  how 
he  kept  so  long  in  favor!  “Why,”  says  he,  “by  receiving 
mjuries,  and  crying  your  humble  servant  for  them.”  Some 
men  take  it  for  an  argument  of  greatness  to  have  revenge 
in  their  power;  but  so  far  is  he  that  is  under  the  dominion 
ot  anger  from  being  great,  that  he  is  not  so  much  as  free. 


SENECA  OF  ANGEE. 


231 


Not  but  that  anger  is  a kind  of  pleasure  to  some  in  the  act 
of  revenge;  but  the  very  word  is  inhuman,  though  it  may 
pass  for  honest.  “ Virtue,”  in  short,  “ is  impenetrable,  and 
revenge  is  only  the  confession  of  an  infirmity.” 

It  is  a fantastical  humor,  that  the  same  jest  m private 
should  make  us  merry,  and  yet  enrage  us  in  ggn. 

public ; nay,  we  will  not  allow  the  liberty  that  ceit  makes  us 
we  take.  Some  railleries  we  account  pleasant, 
others  bitter:  a conceit  upon  a squint-eye,  a 
hunch-back,  or  any  personal  defect,  passes  for 
a reproach.  And  why  may  we  not  as  well  hear  it  as  see 
itl  Nay,  if  a man  imitates  our  gait,  speech,  or  any  natural 
imperfection,  it  puts  us  out  of  all  patience ; as  if  the  coun 
forfeit  were  more  grievous  than  the  doing  of  the  thing  itself, 
t-lome  cannot  endure  to  hear  of  their  age,  nor  others  of  their 
loverty ; and  they  make  the  thing  the  more  taken  notice 
)f,  the  more  they  desire  to  hide  it.  Some  bitter  jest  (for  the 
purpose)  was  broken  upon  you  at  the  table : keep  better 
company  then.  In  the  freedom  of  cups,  a sober  man  will 
hardly  contain  himself  within  bounds.  It  sticks  with  us 
extremely  sometimes,  that  the  porter  will  not  let  us  in  to 
his  great  master.  Will  any  but  a madman  quarrel  with 
a cur  for  barking,  when  he  may  pacify  him  with  a crust  1 
What  have  we  to  do  but  to  keep  further  off,  and  laugh  at 
him  1 Fidus  Cornelius  (a  tall  slim  fellow)  fell  downright 
a-crying  in  the  senate-house  at  Corbulo’s  saying  that  “he 
looked  like  an  ostrich.”  He  was  a man  that  made  nothing 
of  a lash  upon  his  life  and  manners ; but  it  was  worse  than 
death  to  him  a reflection  upon  his  person.  No  man  was 
ever  ridiculous  to  others  that  laughed  at  himself  first:  it 
prevents  mischief,  and  it  is  a spiteful  disappointment  of  those 
that  take  pleasure  in  such  abuses.  Vatinius,  (a  man  that 
was  made  up  for  scorn  and  hatred,  scurrilous  and  impudent 
to  the  highest  degree,  but  most  abusively  witty,  and  with 
all  this  he  was  diseased,  and  deformed  to  extremity),  his 
way  was  always  to  make  sport  with  himself,  and  so  he  pre- 
vented the  mockeries  of  other  people.  There  are  none 
more  abusive  to  others  than  they  that  lie  most  open  to  it 
themselves;  but  the  humor  goes  round,  and  he  that  laughs 
at  me  to-day  will  have  somebody  to  laugh  at  him  to-morrow, 
and  revenge  my  quarrel.  But,  however,  there  are  some 
liberties  that  will  never  go  down  with  some  men. 


232 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


Asiaticus  Valerius,  (one  of  Caligula’s  particular  friends, 
Some  jests  will  ^ stomach,  that  would  not  easily 

never  be  for-  digest  an  affront)  Caligula  told  him  in  public 
given.  what  kind  of  bedfellow  his  wife  was.  Good 
God  ! that  ever  any  man  should  hear  this,  or  a prince  speak 
it,  especially  to  a man  of  consular  authority,  a friend,  and  a 
husband  : and  in  such  a manner  too  as  at  once  to  own  his 
disgust  and  his  adultery.  The  tribune  Chsereas  had  a weak 
broken  voice,  like  an  hermaphrodite ; when  he  came  to 
Caligula  for  the  word,  he  would  give  him  sometimes  Venus, 
other-whiles  Priapus,  as  a slur  upon  him  both  ways. 
Valerius  was  afterwards  the  principal  instrument  in  the 
conspiracy  against  him ; and  Chsereas,  to  convince  him  of 
his  manhood,  at  one  blow  cleft  him  down  the  chin  with  his 
word.  No  man  was  so  forward  as  Caligula  to  break  a jest, 
nd  no  man  so  unwilling  to  bear  it. 


CHAP.  IX. 

Cautions  against  anger  in  the  matter  of  education,  con- 
verse, and  other  general  rules  of  preventing  it,  both  in 
ourselves  and  others. 

All  that  we  have  to  say  in  particular  upon  this  subject 
lies  under  these  two  heads;  first,  that  we  do  not  fall  into 
anger ; and  secondly,  that  we  do  not  transgress  in  it.  As 
in  the  case  of  our  bodies,  we  have  some  medicines  to  pre- 
serve us  when  we  are  well,  and  others  to  recover  us  when 
we  are  sick ; so  it  is  one  thing  not  to  admit  it,  and  another 
thing  to  overcome  it.  We  are,  in  the  first  place,  to  avoid 
all  provocations,  and  the  beginnings  of  anger:  for  if  we  be 
once  down,  it  is  a hard  task  to  get  up  again.  When  our 
passion  has  got  the  better  of  our  reason,  and  the  enemy  in 
received  mto  the  gate,  we  cannot  expect  that  the  conqueror 
should  take  conditions  from  the  prisoner.  And,  in  truth,  our 
leason,  when  it  is  thus  mastered,  turns  effectually  into 
passion.  A careful  education  is  a great  matter;  for  our 
minds  are  easily  formed  in  our  youth,  but  it  is  a harder 
business  to  cure  ill  habits;  beside  that,  we  are  inflamed  by 


SENECA  OF  ANGER.  233 

climate,  constitution,  company,  and  a thousand  other  acci- 
dents, that  we  are  not  aware  of. 

The  choice  of  a good  nurse,  and  a well-natured  tutor, 
goes  a great  way : for  the  sweetness  both  of  the  blood  and 
of  the  manners  will  pass  into  the  child.  There  is  nothing 
breeds  anger  more  than  a soft  and  effeminate  education  ; and 
it  is  very  seldom  seen  that  either  the  mother’s  or  the  school- 
master’s darling  ever  comes  to  good.  But  my  young  master, 
when  he  comes  into  the  world,  behaves  himself  like  a 
choleric  coxcomb ; for  flattery,  and  a great  fortune,  nourish 
touchiness.  But  it  is  a nice  point  so  to  check  the  seeds  of 
anger  in  a child  as  not  to  take  off  his  edge,  and  quench  his 
spirits ; whereof  a principal  care  must  be  taken  betwixt 
license  and  severity,  that  he  be  neither  too  much  embold- 
ened nor  depressed.  Commendation  gives  him  courage  and 
confidence;  but  then  the  danger  is,  of  blowing  him  up  into 
insolence  and  wrath : so  that  when  to  use  the  bit,  and  when 
the  spur,  is  the  main  difficulty.  Never  put  him  to  a necessity 
of  begging  any  thing  basely ; or  if  he  does,  let  him  go  with- 
out it.  Inure  him  to  a familarity  where  he  has  any  emula- 
tion ; and  in  all  his  exercises  let  him  understand  that  it  is 
generous  to  overcome  his  competitor,  but  not  to  hurt  him. 
Allow  him  to  be  pleased  when  he  does  well,  but  not  trans- 
ported ; for  that  will  puff  him  up  into  too  high  a conceit  of 
himself  Give  him  nothing  that  he  cries  for  till  the  dogged 
fit  is  over,  but  then  let  him  have  it  when  he  is  quiet ; to  show 
him  that  there  is  nothing  to  be  gotten  by  being  peevish. 
Chide  him  for  whatever  he  does  amiss,  and  make  him  betimes 
acquainted  with  the  fortune  that  he  was  born  to.  Let  his 
diet  be  cleanly,  but  sparing ; and  clothe  him  like  the  rest  of 
his  fellows : for  by  placing  him  upon  that  equality  at  first,  he 
will  be  the  less  proud  afterward : and,  consequently  the  less 
waspish  and  quarrelsome. 

In  the  next  place,  let  us  have  a care  of  temptations  that 
we  cannot  resist,  and  provocations  that  we  cannot  bear ; and 
especially  of  sour  and  exceptions  company : for  a cross 
humor  is  contagious.  Nor  is  it  all  that  a man  shall  be  the 
better  for  the  example  of  a quiet  conversation ; but  an  angry 
disposition  is  troublesome,  because  it  has  nothing  else  to 
work  upon.  We  should  therefore  choose  a sincere,  easy,  and 
temperate  companion,  that  will  neither  provoke  anger  nor 
return  it;  nor  give  a man  any  occasion  of  exercising  his 
distempers.  Nor  is  it  enough  to  be  gentle,  submissive,  and 


234 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


humane,  without  integrity  and  plain-dealing;  for  flattery  is 
as  offensive  on  the  other  side.  Some  men  would  take  a 
curse  from  you  better  than  a compliment.  Calius,  a 
passionate  orator,  had  a friend  of  singular  patience  that 
supped  with  him,  who  had  no  way  to  avoid  a quarrel  but 
by  saying  amen  to  ail  that  Caelius  said.  Caelius,  taking  this 
ill ; “ Say  something  against  me,”  says  he,  “ that  you  and 
I may  be  two and  he  was  angry  with  him  because  he 
would  not;  hut  the  dispute  fell,  as  it  needs  must,  for  want 
of  an  opponent. 

He  that  is  naturally  addicted  to  anger,  let  him  use  a 
moderate  diet,  and  abstain  from  wine ; for  it  is  but  adding 
fire  to  fire.  Gentle  exercises,  recreations,  and  sports,  tem- 
per and  sweeten  the  mind.  Let  him  have  a care  also  of 
long  and  obstinate  disputes ; for  it  is  easier  not  to  begin 
them  than  to  put  an  end  to  them.  Severe  studies  are  not 
good  for  him  either,  as  law,  mathematics ; too  much  atten- 
tion preys  upon  the  spirits,  and  makes  him  eager:  but 
voetry,  history,  and  those  lighter  entertainments,  may  serve 
him  for  diversion  and  relief!  He  that  would  be  quiet,  must 
not  venture  at  things  out  of  his  reach,  or  beyond  his 
strength;  for  he  shall  either  stagger  under  the  burden,  or 
discharge  it  upon  the  next  man  he  meets;  which  is  the 
same  case  in  civil  and  domestic  affairs.  Business  that  is 
ready  and  practicable  goes  off  with  ease ; but  when  it  is 
too  heavy  for  the  bearer,  they  fall  both  together.  Whatso- 
ver  we  design,  we  should  first  take  a measure  of  ourselves, 
and  compare  our  force  with  the  undertaking;  for  it  vexes 
a man  not  to  go  through  with  his  work : a repulse  inflames 
a generous  nature,  as  it  makes  one  that  is  phlegmatic,  sad. 
I have  known  some  that  have  advised  looking  in  a glass 
when  a man  is  in  the  fit,  and  the  very  spectacle  of  his  own 
deformity  has  cured  him.  Many  that  are  troublesome  in 
their  drink,  and  know  their  own  infirmity,  give  their 
servants  order  beforehand  to  take  them  away  by  force  for 
fear  of  mischief,  and  not  to  obey  their  masters  themselves 
when  they  are  hot-headed.  If  the  thing  were  duly  con- 
sidered, we  should  need  no  other  cure  than  the  bare  con- 
sideration of  it.  We  are  not  angry  at  madmen,  children, 
and  fools,  because  they  do  not  know  what  they  do:  and  why 
should  not  imprudence  have  an  equal  privilege  in  other 
cases  1 If  a horse  kick,  or  a dog  bite,  shall  a man  kick  or 
nite  again  1 The  one,  it  is  true,  is  wholly  void  of  reason, 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


235 


out  it  is  also  an  equivalent  darkness  of  mind  that  possesses 
the  other.  So  long  as  we  are  among  men,  let  us  cherish 
humanity,  and  so  live  that  no  man  may  be  either  in  fear  or 
in  danger  of  us.  Losses,  injuries,  reproaches,  calumnies, 
they  are  but  short  inconveniences,  and  we  should  bear  them 
with  resolution.  Beside  tliat,  some  people  are  above  our 
anger,  others  below  it.  To  contend  with  our  superiors  were 
a folly,  and  with  our  inferiors  an  indignity. 

There  is  hardly  a more  effectual  remedy  against  anger 
than  patience  and  consideration.  Let  but  the 
first  fervor  abate,  and  that  mist  which  darkens  ^ens^ wrath. ' 
the  mind,  will  be  either  lessened  or  dispelled  ; 
a day,  nay,  an  hour,  does  much  in  the  most  violent  cases, 
and  perchance  totally  suppresses  it : time  discovers  the  truth 
of  things,  and  turns  that  into  judgment  which  at  first  was 
anger.  Plato  was  about  to  strike  his  servant,  and  while  his 
hand  was  in  the  air,  he  checked  himself,  but  still  held  it  in 
that  menacing  posture.  A friend  of  his  took  notice  of  it,  and 
asked  him  what  he  meant  1 “I  am  now,”  says  Plato,  “pun- 
ishing of  an  angry  man so  that  he  had  left  his  servant  to 
chastise  himself.  Another  time,  his  servant  having  com- 
mitted a great  fault:  “ Speusippus,”  says  he,  “do  you  beat 
that  fellow,  for  I am  angry,”  so  that  he  forebore  striking  him 
for  the  very  reason  that  would  have  made  another  man  have 
done  it.  “ I am  angry,”  says  he,  “ and  shall  go  further  than 
becomes  me.”  Nor  is  it  fit  that  a servant  should  be  in  his 
power  that  is  not  his  own  master.  Why  should  any  one 
venture  now  to  trust  an  angry  man  with  a revenge,  when 
Plato  durst  not  trust  himself  ! Either  he  must  govern  that, 
or  that  will  undo  him.  Let  us  do  our  best  to  overcome  it,  but 
let  us,  however,  keep  it  close,  without  giving  it  any  vent. 
An  angry  man,  if  he  gives  himself  liberty  at  all  times,  will 
go  too  far.  If  it  comes  once  to  show  itself  in  the  eye  or 
countenance,  it  has  got  the  better  of  us.  Nay,  we  should 
so  oppose  it,  as  to  put  on  the  very  contrary  dispositions ; 
calm  looks,  soft  and  slow  speech,  an  easy  and  deliberate 
march  ; and  by  little  and  little,  we  may  possibly  bring  our 
thoughts  into  a sober  comformity  with  our  actions.  When 
Socrates  was  angry,  he  would  take  himself  in  it,  and  speak 
Into,  in  opposition  to  the  motions  of  his  displeasure.  His 
friends  would  take  notice  of  it;  and  it  was  not  to  his  dis- 
advantage neither,  but  rather  to  his  credit,  that  so  many 
should  know  that  he  was  angry,  and  nobody /eel  it;  which 
could  never  have  been,  if  he  had  not  given  his  friends  the 


236 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


same  liberty  of  admonition  which  he  himself  took.  And  this 
course  should  we  take;  we  should  desire  our  friends  not  to 
flatter  us  in  our  follies,  but  to  treat  us  with  all  liberties  of 
reprehension,  even  when  we  are  least  willing'  to  bear  it, 
against  so  powerful  and  so  insinuating  an  evil ; we  should 
call  for  help  wliile  we  have  our  eyes  in  our  head,  and  are  yet 
masters  of  ourselves.  Moderation  is  profitable  for  subjects, 
but  more  for  princes,  wlio  have  the  means  of  executing  all 
that  their  anger  prompts  them  to.  When  that  power  comes 
once  to  be  exercised  to  a common  mischief,  it  can  never  long 
continue;  a common  fear  joining  in  one  cause  all  their 
divided  complaints.  In  a word  now,  how  we  may  prevent, 
moderate,  or  master  this  impotent  passion  in  others. 

It  is  not  enough  to  be  sound  ourselves,  unless  we  endea- 

Several  wa -s  of n)USt  ac- 
dfverting anger,  commodate  the  remedy  to  the  temper  of  the 
patient.  Some  are  to  be  dealt  with  by  artifice 
and  address  : as,  for  example,  “Why  will  you  gratify  your 
enemies,  to  show  yourself  so  much  concerned  1 It  is  not 
worth  your  anger  : it  is  below  you  : I am  as  much  troubled 
at  it  myself  as  you  can  be ; but  you  had  better  say  nothing, 
and  take  your  time  to  be  even  with  them.”  Anger  in  some 
people  is  to  be  openly  opposed  ; in  others,  there  must  be  a 
little  yielding,  according  to  the  disposition  of  the  person. 
Some  are  won  by  entreaties,  others  are  gained  by  mere 
hame  and  conviction,  and  some  by  delay ; a dull  way  of  cure 
or  a violent  distemper,  but  this  must  be  the  last  experiment. 
Other  affections  may  be  better  dealt  with  at  leisure ; for  they 
proceed  gradually:  but  this  commences  and  perfects  itself 
in  the  same  moment.  It  does  not,  like  other  passions,  solicit 
and  mislead  us,  but  it  runs  away  with  us  by  force,  and  hur- 
ries us  on  with  an  irresistible  temerity,  as  well  to  our  own 
as  to  another’s  ruin : not  only  flying  in  the  face  of  him  that 
provokes  us,  but  like  a torrent,  bearing  down  all  before  it. 
There  is  no  encountering  the  first  heat  and  fury  of  it : for 
it  is  deaf  and  mad,  the  best  way  is  (in  the  beginning)  to 
give  it  time  and  rest,  and  let  it  spend  itself:  while  the  pas- 
sion is  too  hot  to  handle,  we  may  deceive  it;  but,  however, 
let  all  inst-ruments  of  revenge  be  put  out  of  the  way.  It  is 
not  amiss  sometimes  to  pretend  to  be  angry  too;  and  join 
with  him,  not  only  in  the  opinion  of  the  injury,  but  in  the 
seeming  contrivance  of  a revenge.  But  this  must  be  a per- 
son then  that  has  some  authority  over  him.  This  is  a 
way  to  get  time,  and,  by  advising  upon  some  greater  punish- 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


237 


merit,  to  delay  the  present.  If  the  passion  be  outrageous, 
try  what  shame  or  fear  can  do.  If  weak,  it  is  no  hard  mat- 
ter to  amuse  it  by  strange  ^tories,  grateful  news,  or  pleasant 
discourses.  Deceit,  in  this  case,  is  friendship ; for  men 
must  be  cozened  to  be  cured. 

The  injuries  that  press  hardest  upon  us  are  those  which 
either  we  have  not  deserved,  or  not  expected,  ... 
or,  at  least,  not  in  so  high  a degree.  This  go°nearest"us,* 
arises  from  the  love  of  ourselves : for  every  that  we  have 
man  takes  upon  him,  like  a prince,  in  this  case,  J^'^nol^exTOcted 
to  practise  all  liberties,  and  to  allow  none, 
which  proceeds  either  from  ignorance  or  insolence.  What 
news  is  it  for  people  to  do  ill  things  1 for  an  enemy  to 
hurt  us;  nay,  for  a friend  or  a servant  to  transgress,  and  to 
prove  treacherous,  ungrateful,  covetous,  impious"!  What 
we  find  in  one  man  we  may  in  another,  and  there  is  more 
security  in  fortune  than  in  men.  Our  joys  are  mingled  with 
fear,  and  a tempest  may  arise  out  of  a calm ; but  a skilful 
pilot  is  always  provided  for  it. 


CHAP.  X. 

Against  rash  judgment. 

It  is  good  for  every  man  to  fortify  himself  on  his  weak 
side ; and  if  he  loves  his  peace  he  must  not  be  inquisitive, 
and  hearken  to  tale-bearers;  for  the  man  that  is  over- 
curious  to  hear  and  see  every  thing,  multiplies  troubles  to 
himself:  for  a man  does  not  feel  what  he  does  not  know. 
He  that  is  listening  after  private  discourse,  and  what  people 
say  of  him,  shall  never  be  at  peace.  How  many  things  tha 
are  innocent  in  themselves  are  made  injuries  yet  by  mis- 
construction I Wherefore,  some  things  we  are  to  pause 
upon,  others  to  laugh  at,  and  others  again  to  pardon.  Or, 
if  we  cannot  avoid  the  sense  of  indignities,  let  us  however 
shun  the  open  profession  of  it,  which  may  easily  be  done, 
as  appears  by  many  examples  of  those  that  have  suppressed 
their  anger  under  the  awe  of  a greater  fear.  It  is  a good 
caution  not  to  believe  any  thing  until  we  are  very  certain 
of  it;  for  many  probable  things  prove  false,  and  a short  time 
will  make  evidence  of  the  undoubted  truth.  We  are  prone 
to  believe  nianv  things  which  we  are  willing  to  hear,  and 


238 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


60  we  (include,  and  take  up  a prejudice  before  we  can 
judge.  Never  condemn  a friend  unheard ; or  without  letting 
him  know  his  accuser,  or  his  crime.  It  is  a common  thing 
to  say,  “ Do  not  you  tell  that  you  had  it  from  me : for  if 
you  do,  I will  deny  it,  and  never  tell  you  any  thing  again 
by  wJiich  means  friends  are  set  together  by  the  ears,  and 
the  informer  slips  his  neck  out  of  the  collar.  Admit  no 
stories  upon  these  terms ; for  it  is  an  unjust  thing  to  believe 
in  private  and  to  be  angry  openly.  He  that  delivers  himself 
up  to  guess  and  conjecture  runs  a great  hazard ; for  there 
can  be  no  suspicion  without  some  probable  grounds ; so  that 
without  much  candor  and  simplicity,  and  making  the  best 
of  every  thing,  there  is  no  living  in  society  with  mankind. 
Some  things  that  offend  us  we  have  by  report ; others  we 
see  or  hear.  In  the  first  case,  let  us  not  be  too  credulous: 
some  people  frame  stories  that  they  may  deceive  us ; others 
only  tell  what  they  hear,  and  are  deceived  themselves : some 
make  it  their  sport  to  do  ill  offices,  others  do  them  only  to 
pick  a thank  : there  are  some  that  would  part  the  dearesc 
friends  in  the  world  ; others  love  to  do  mischief,  and  stand 
aloof  off  to  see  what  comes  of  it.  If  it  be  a small  matter,  I 
would  have  witnesses ; but  if  it  be  a greater,  I would  have 
it  upon  oath,  and  allow  time  to  the  accused,  and  counsel  too, 
and  hear  over  and  over  again. 

In  those  cases  where  we  ourselves  are  witnesses,  we 
should  take  into  consideration  all  the  circum- 
of  every  ihiiH'.  stances.  It  a child,  it  was  ignorance:  it  a 
woman,  a mistake:  if  done  by  command,  a 
necessity ; if  a man  be  injured,  it  is  but  quod  pro  quo:  if  a 
judge,  he  knoios  what  he  does : if  a prince,  I must  submit; 
either  if  guilty,  to  justice,  or  if  innocent,  to  fortune  : if  a 
brute,  I make  myself  one  by  imitating  it:  if  a calamity  or 
disease,  my  best  relief  is  patience:  f providence,  it  is  both 
impious  and  vain  to  be  angry  at  it:  if  a good  man,  I will 
make  the  best  of  it : if  a bad,  I will  never  wonder  at  it. 
Nor  is  it  only  by  tales  and  stories  that  we  are  inflamed,  but 
suspicions,  countenances,  nay,  a look  or  a smile,  is  enough 
to  blow  us  up.  In  these  cases,  let  u<?  suspend  our  dis- 
pleasure, and  plead  the  cause  of  the  absent.  “ Perhaps  he 
is  innocent ; or,  if  not,  I have  time  to  consider  of  it,  and  may 
take  my  revenge  at  leisure:”  but  when  it  is  once  executed, 
it  is  not  to  be  recalled.  A jealous  head  is  apt  to  take  that 
to  himself  which  was  never  meant  him.  Let  us  therefore 
trust  to  nothing  but  what  we  see,  and  chide  ourselves  where 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


239 


we  are  over-credulous.  By  this  course  we  shall  not  be  so 
easily  imposed  upon,  nor  put  to  trouble  ourselves  about 
things  not  worth  the  while:  as  the  loitering  of  a servant 
upon  an  errand,  and  the  tumbling  of  a bed,  or  the  spilling 
of  a glass  of  drink.  It  is  a madness  to  be  disordered  at  these 
fooleries;  we  consider  the  thing  done,  and  not  the  doer  of 
it.  “It  may  be  he  did  it  unwillingly,  or  by  chance.  It  was 
a trick  put  upon  him,  or  he  was  forced  to  it.  He  did  it  for 
reward  perhaps,  not  hatred  ; nor  of  his  own  accord,  but  ho 
was  urged  on  to  it.”  Nay,  some  regard  must  be  had  to  the 
age  of  the  person,  or  to  fortune;  and  we  must  consult  hu- 
manity and  candor  in  the  case.  One  does  me  a great  mis- 
chief at  unawares ; another  does  me  a very  small  one  by 
design,  or  peradventure  none  at  all,  but  intended  me  one. 
The  latter  was  more  in  fault,  but  I will  be  angry  with 
neither.  We  must  distinguish  betwixt  what  a man  cannot 
do  and  what  he  ivill  not.  “ It  is  true,  he  has  once  offended 
me ; but  how  often  has  he  pleased  me  ! He  has  offended  me 
often,  and  in  other  kinds;  and  why  should  not  1 bear  it  as 
well  now  as  I have  done  1”  Is  he  my  friend  7 why  then, 
“ It  was  against  his  will.”  Is  he  my  enemy  1 It  is  “ no  more 
than  I looked  for.”  Let  us  give  way  to  wise  men,  and  nut 
squabble  with  fools;  and  say  thus  to  ourselves,  “ We  have 
all  of  us  our  errors.”  No  man  is  so  circumspect,  so  con- 
siderate, or  so  fearful  of  offending,  but  he  has  much  to  an- 
swer for.  A generous  prisoner  cannot  immediately  comply 
with  all  the  sordid  and  laborious  offices  of  a slave.  A foot- 
man that  is  not  breathed  cannot  keep  pace  with  his  master’s 
horse.  He  that  is  over-watched  may  be  allowed  to  be 
drowsy.  All  these  things  are  to  be  weighed  before  we  give 
any  ear  to  the  first  impulse.  If  it  be  my  duty  to  love  mv 
country,  I must  be  kind  also  to  my  countrymen;  if  a vene- 
ration be  due  to  the  whole,  so  is  a piety  also  to  the  parts: 
and  it  is  the  common  interest  to  preserve  them.  We  are 
all  members  of  one  body,  and  it  is  as  natural  to  help  one 
another  as  for  the  hands  to  help  the  feet,  or  the  eyes  the 
hands.  Without  the  love  and  care  of  the  parts,  the  whole 
can  never  be  preserved,  and  we  must  spare  one  another 
because  we  are  born  for  society,  which  cannot  be  maintain- 
ed without  a regard  to  particulars.  Let  this  be  a rule  to 
us,  never  to  deny  a pardon,  that  does  no  hurt  either  to  the 
giver  or  receiver.  That  may  be  well  enough  in  one  which 
is  ill  in  another ; and  therefore  we  are  not  to  condemn  any 
thing  that  is  common  to  a nation;  for  custom  defends  it 


■<f40  SENECA  OF  ANGER 

But  much  more  pardonable  are  those  things  which  are  com- 
mon to  mankind. 

It  is  a kind  of  spiteful  comfort,  that  whoever  does  me  an 
Whoever  does  receive  one;  and  that  there  is  a 

an  injury,  is  power  over  him  that  is  above  me.  A man 
lahie  to  sufler  should  Stand  as  firm  against  all  indignities  as 
a rock  does  against  the  waves.  As  it  is  some 
satisfaction  to  a man  in  a mean  condition  that  there  is  no 
security  in  a more  prosperous ; and  as  the  loss  of  a son  in  a 
corner  is  borne  with  more  patience  upon  the  sight  of  a fu- 
neral carried  out  of  a palace ; so  are  injuries  and  contempts 
the  more  tolerable  from  a meaner  person,  when  we  con- 
sider, that  tlie  greatest  men  and  fortunes  are  not  exempt. 
The  wisest  also  of  mortals  liave  their  failings,  and  no  man 
living  is  without  the  same  excuse.  The  diference  is,  that 
we  do  not  all  of  us  transgress  the  same  way ; but  we  arc 
obliged  in  humanity  to  bear  witli  one  another.  We  should, 
every  one  of  us,  bethink  ourselves,  how  remiss  we  have  been 
in  our  duties,  how  immodest  in  our  discourses,  how  intem- 
perate in  our  cups;  and  why  not,  as  well,  how  extravagant 
we  have  been  in  our  passions  1 Let  us  clear  ourselves  of  this 
evil,  purge  our  minds,  and  utterly  root  out  all  those  vices, 
which  upon  leaving  the  least  sting,  will  grow  again  and  re- 
cover. We  must  think  of  every  thing,  expect  every  thing, 
that  we  may  not  be  surprised.  It  is  a shame,  says  Fabius, 
for  a commander  to  excuse  himself  by  saying,  “I  was  not 
aware  of  it.” 


CHAP.  XI. 

Take  nothing  ill  from  another  man,  until  you  have  made 
it  your  own  case. 

It  is  not  prudent  to  deny  a pardon  to  any  man,  without 
first  examining  if  we  stand  not  in  need  of  it  ourselves ; for  it 
may  be  our  lot  to  ask  it,  even  at  his  feet  to  whom  we  refuse 
It.  But  we  are  willing  enough  to  do  what  we  are  very  unwill- 
ing to  suffer.  It  is  unreasonable  to  charge  public  vices  upon 
particular  persons;  for  we  are  all  of  Uo  wicked,  and  that 
which  we  blame  in  others  we  find  in  ourselves.  It  is  not  a 
oaleness  in  one,  or  a leanness  in  another,  but  a pestilence  that 
nas  laid  hold  unou  all.  It  is  a wicked  world,  and  we  make 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


241 


part  of  it ; and  the  way  to  be  quiet  is  to  bear  one  with  an- 
other. “ Such  a man,”  we  cry,  “ has  done  me  a shrewd 
turn,  and  I never  did  him  any  hurt.”  Well,  but  it  may  be  I 
have  mischieved  other  people,  or,  at  least,  I may  live  to  do 
as  much  to  him  as  that  comes  to.  “ Such  a one  has  spoken 
ill  things  of  me ;”  but  if  I first  speak  ill  of  him,  as  I do  of 
many  others,  this  is  not  an  injury,  but  a repayment.  What 
if  he  did  overshoot  himself!  He  was  loth  to  lose  his  conceit 
perhaps,  but  there  was  no  malice  in  it;  and  if  he  had  not 
done  me  a mischief,  he  must  have  done  himself  one.  How 
many  good  offices  are  there  that  look  like  injuries ! Nay, 
how  many  have  been  reconciled  and  good  friends  after  a 
professed  hatred ! 

Before  we  lay  any  thing  to  heart,  let  us  ask  ourselves  if 
we  have  not  done  the  same  thing  to  others. 

But  where  shall  we  find  an  equal  judge!  He  c<«dernn"an" 
that  loves  another  man’s  wife  (only  because  other,  without 
she  is  another’s)  will  not  suffer  his  own  to  be  “a*""?  "■ 
so  much  looked  upon.  No  man  is  so  fierce 
against  calumny  as  the  evil  speaker;  none  so  strict  exactors 
of  modesty  in  a servant  as  those  that  are  most  prodigal  of 
their  own.  We  carry  our  neighbors’  crimes  in  sight,  and 
we  throw  our  own  over  our  shoulders.  The  intemperance 
of  a bad  son  is  chastised  by  a worse  father;  and  the  luxury 
that  we  punish  in  others,  we  allow  to  ourselves.  The  tyrant 
exclaims  against  homicide ; and  sacrilege  against  theft.  We 
are  angry  with  the  persons,  but  not  with  the  faults. 

Some  things  there  are  that  cannot  hurt  us,  and  others 
will  not ; as  good  magistrates,  parents,  tutors,  things 
judges;  whose  reproof  or  correction  we  are  cannot  hun'is. 
to  take  as  we  do  abstinence,  bleeding,  and  and  others  win 
other  uneasy  things,  which  we  are  the  better 
for.  In  which  cases,  we  are  not  so  much  to  reckon  upon 
what  we  suffer  as  upon  what  we  have  done.  “ I take  it  ill,” 
says  one ; and,  “ I have  done  nothing,”  says  another : when, 
at  the  same  time,  we  make  it  worse,  by  adding  arrogance 
and  contumacy  to  our  first  error.  We  cry  out  presently, 
“ What  law  have  we  transgressed !”  As  if  the  letter  of  the 
law  were  the  sum  of  our  duty,  and  that  piety,  humanity, 
liberality,  justice,  and  faith,  were  things  beside  our  business. 
No,  no;  the  rule  of  human  duty  is  of  a greater  latitude; 
and  we  have  many  obligations  upon  us  that  are  not  to  be 
found  in  the  statute-books.  And  yet  we  fall  short  of  the 
V 


2i2 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


exactness  even  of  that  Ze^aZ  innoccncy.  We  liave  intended 
one  thing  and  done  another;  wherein  only  the  want  of  suc- 
cess has  kept  us  from  being  criminals.  This  very  thing, 
methinks,  should  make  us  more  favorable  to  delinquents, 
and  to  forgive  not  only  ourselves,  but  the  gods  too;  of  whom 
we  seem  to  have  harder  thoughts  in  taking  that  to  be  a 
particular  evil  directed  to  us,  that  befalls  us  only  by  the 
common  law  of  mortality.  In  fine,  no  man  living  can  ab- 
solve himself  to  his  conscience,  though  to  the  world,  per- 
haps, he  may.  It  is  true,  that  we  are  also  condemned  to 
pains  and  diseases,  and  to  death  too,  which  is  no  more  than 
the  quitting  of  the  soul’s  house.  But  why  should  any  man 
complain  of  bondage,  that,  wlieresoever  he 
toicaieiror.  has  his  Way  open  to  liberty]  That  pre- 

cipice, that  sea,  that  river,  that  well,  there  is  freedom  in 
the  bottom  of  it.  It  hangs  upon  every  crooked  bow ; and 
not  only  a man’s  throat,  or  his  heart,  but  every  vein  in  his 
body,  opens  a passage  to  it. 

To  conclude,  where  my  proper  virtue  fails  me,  I will  have 
recourse  to  examples,  and  say  to  myself.  Am  I greater  than 
Philip  or  Augustus,  who  both  of  them  put  up  with  greater 
reproaches  1 Many  have  pardoned  their  enemies,  and  shall 
not  I forgive  a neglect,  a little  freedom  of  the  tongue]  Nay, 
the  patience  but  of  a second  thought  does  the  business ; for 
though  the  first  shock  be  violent,  take  it  in  parts,  and  it  is 
subdued.  And,  to  wind  up  all  in  one  word,  the  great  les- 
son of  mankind,  as  well  in  this  as  in  all  other  cases,  is,  “ to 
do  as  we  would  be  done  by.” 


CHAP.  XII. 

Of  Cruelty. 

There  is  so  near  an  affinity  betwixt  anger  and  cruelly, 
that  many  people  confound  them ; as  if  cruelty  were  only 
the  execution  of  anger  in  the  payment  of  a revenge ; 
which  holds  in  some  cases,  but  not  in  others.  There  are  a 
sort  of  men  that  take  delight  in  the  spilling  of  human  blood, 
and  in  the  death  of  those  that  never  did  them  any  injury, 
nor  were  ever  so  much  as  suspected  for  it;  as  Apollodorus, 
Phalaris,  Sinis,  Procrostus,  and  others,  that  burnt  men 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


243 


aliv3;  whom  we  cannot  so  properly  call  angry  zs  brutal. 
For  anger  does  necessarily  presuppose  an  injury,  either 
done,  or  conceived,  or  feared:  but  the  other  Xzkes  pleasure 
in  tormenting,  without  so  much  as  pretending  any  provoca- 
tion to  it,  and  kills  merely  for  killing  sake.  The  original 
of  this  cruelty  perhaps  was  anger;  which,  by  frequent  ex- 
ercise and  custom,  has  lost  all  sense  of  humanity  and  mercy , 
and  they  that  are  thus  aifected  are  so  far  from  the  counte- 
nance and  appearance  of  men  in  anger,  that  they  will 
laugh,  rejoice,  and  entertain  themselves  with  the  most  hor- 
rid spectacles ; as  racks,  jails,  gibbets,  several  sorts  of 
chains  and  punishments,  dilaceration  of  members,  stigma- 
tizing, and  wild  beasts,  with  other  exquisite  inventions  of 
torture : and  yet  at  last  the  cruelty  itself  is  more  horrid 
and  odious  than  the  means  by  which  it  works.  It  is  a bes- 
tial madness  to  lore  mischief;  beside,  that  it  is  womanish 
to  rage  and  tear.  A generous  beast  will  scorn  to  do  it 
when  he  has  any  thing  at  his  mercy.  It  is  a vice  for  wolves 
nd  tigers ; and  no  less  abominable  to  the  world  than  dan- 
erous  to  itself. 

The  Romans  had  their  morning  and  their  meridian  spec- 
tacles. In  the  former,  they  had  their  combats  xhe  cruelty  of 
of  men  with  wild  beasts ; and  in  the  latter,  the  Roman 
the  men  fought  one  with  another.  “ I went,”  spectacles, 
ays  our  author,  “the  other  day  to  the  meridian  spectacles, 
n hope  of  meeting  somewhat  of  mirth  and  diversion  to 
weeten  the  humors  of  those  that  had  been  entertained 
with  blood  in  the  morning ; but  it  proved  otherwise ; for, 
compared  with  this  inhumanity,  the  former  was  a mercy. 
The  whole  business  was  only  murder  upon  murder : the 
combatants  fought  naked,  and  every  blow  was  a wound. 
They  do' not  contend  for  victory,  but  for  death;  and  he  that 
kills  one  man  is  to  be  killed  by  another.  By  wounds  they 
are  forced  upon  wounds  which  they  take  and  give  upon  their 
hzxe  breasts.  Burn  that  rogue,  t\\ey  cry.  What!  Is  he 
afraid  of  his  flesh  1 Do  but  see  how  sneakingly  that  ras 
cal  dies.  Look  to  yourselves,  my  masters,  and  consider  of 
it;  who  knows  but  this  may  come  to  be  your  own  easel’ 
Wicked  examples  seldom  fail  of  coming  home  at  last  to  the 
authors.  To  destroy  a single  man  may  be  dangerous;  but 
to  murder  whole  nations  is  only  a more  glorious  wickedness 
Private  avarice  and  rigor  are  condemned  ; but  oppression, 
when  it  comes  to  be  authorized  by  an  act  of  state,  and  to 


•244 


SENECA.  OF  ANGER, 


be  publicly  commanded,  though  particularly  forbidden,  be- 
comes a point  of  dignity  and  honor.  What  a shame  is  it 
for  men  to  intervvorry  one  another,  when  yet  the  fiercest 
even  of  beasts  are  at  peace  with  those  of  their  own  kind  1 
This  brutal  fury  puts  philosophy  itself  to  a stand.  The 
drunkard,  the  glutton,  the  covetous,  may  be  reduced ; nay, 
and  the  mischief  of  it  is,  that  no  vice  keeps  itself  within  its 
proper  bounds.  Luxury  runs  into  avarice,  and  when  the 
reverence  of  virtue  is  extinguished,  men  will  stick  at  no- 
thing that  carries  profit  along  with  it.  Man’s  blood  is  shed 
in  wantonness,  his  death  is  a spectacle  for  entertainment, 
and  his  groans  are  music.  When  Alexander  delivered  up 
Lysimachus  to  a lion,  how  glad  would  he  have  been  to  have 
had  nails  and  teeth  to  have  devoured  him  himself!  it  would 
have  too  much  derogated,  he  thought,  from  the  dignity  of 
his  wrath,  to  have  appointed  a man  for  the  execution  of  his 
riend.  Private  cruelties,  it  is  true,  cannot  do  much  mis- 
hief,  but  in  princes  they  are  a war  against  mankind. 

C.  Caesar  would  commonly,  for  exercise  and  pleasure,  put 
Barbarous  s^^^O'tors  and  Roman  knights  to  the  torture ; 
crueiUes^  and  whip  several  of  them  like  slaves,  or  put 
them  to  death  with  the  most  acute  torments, 
merely  for  the  satisfaction  of  his  cruelty.  That  Caesar  that 
“ wished  the  people  of  Rome  had  but  one  neck,  that  he 
might  cut  it  off  at  one  blow it  was  the  employment,  the 
tudy,  and  the  joy  of  his  life.  He  would  not  so  much  as 
give  the  expiring  leave  to  groan,  but  caused  their  mouths 
to  be  stopped  with  spunges,  or  for  want  of  them,  with  rags 
of  their  own  clothes,  that  they  might  not  breathe  out  so 
much  as  their  last  agonies  at  liberty ; or,  perhaps,  lest  the 
tormented  should  speak  something  which  the  tormenter  had 
no  mind  to  hear.  Nay,  he  was  so  impatient  of  delay,  that 
he  would  frequently  rise  from  supper  to  have  men  killed  by 
torch-light,  as  if  his  life  and  death  had  depended  upon  their 
dispatch  before  the  next  morning.  To  say  nothing  how 
many  fathers  were  put  to  death  in  the  same  night  with 
their  sons  (which  was  a kind  of  mercy  in  the  prevention 
of  their  mourning.)  And  was  not  Sylla’s  cruelty  prodigious 
too,  which  was  only  stopt  for  want  of  enemies  1 He  caused 
seven  thousand  citizens  of  Rome  to  be  slaughtered  at  once: 
and  some  of  the  senators  being  startled  at  their  cries  that 
were  heard  in  the  senate-house : “ Let  us  mind  our  busi- 
ness,” says  Sylla;  “this  is  nothing  but  a few  mutineers 
that  I have  ordered  to  be  sent  out  of  the  way.”  A glorious 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


245 


spectacle  ' says  Hannibal,  when  he  saw  the  trenches  flow- 
ing’ with  human  blood ; and  if  the  rivers  had  run  blood  too, 
he  would  have  liked  it  so  much  the  better. 

Among  the  famous  and  detestable  speeches  that  are  com- 
mitted to  memory,  I know  none  worse  than  jjg  threat- 
that  impudent  and  tyrannical  maxim,  “ Let  ens  all,  fears 
them  hate  me,  so  they  fear  me not  consider- 
ing  that  those  that  are  kept  in  obedience  by  fear,  are  both 
malicious  and  mercenary,  and  only  wait  for  an  opportunity 
to  change  their  master.  Beside  that,  whosoever  is  terrible 
to  others  is  likewise  afraid  of  himself.  What  is  more  ordi- 
nary than  for  a tyrant  to  be  destroyed  by  his  own  guards  1 
which  is  no  more  than  the  putting  those  crimes  into  prac- 
tice which  they  learned  of  their  masters.  How  many  slaves 
have  revenged  themselves  of  their  cruel  oppressors,  though 
they  were  sure  to  die  for  it ! but  when  it  comes  once  to  a 
vopular  tyranny,  whole  nations  conspire  against  it.  For 
“ whosoever  threatens  all,  is  in  danger  of  all over  and 
above,  that  the  cruelty  of  the  prince  increases  the  number 
of  his  enemies,  by  destroying  some  of  them ; for  it  entails 
an  hereditary  hatred  upon  the  friends  and  relations  of  those 
that  are  taken  away.  And  then  it  has  this  misfortune,  that 
a man  must  be  wicked  upon  necessity ; for  there  is  no 
going  back  ; so  that  he  must  betake  himself  to  arms,  and 
yet  he  lives  in  fear.  He  can  neither  trust  to  the  faith  of 
ins  friends,  nor  to  the  piety  of  his  children ; he  both  dreads 
death  and  wishes  it ; and  becomes  a greater  terror  to  him- 
self than  he  is  to  his  people.  Nay,  if  there  were  nothing 
else  to  make  cruelty  detestable,  it  were  enough  that  it 
passes  all  bounds,  both  of  custom  and  humanity ; and  is  fol- 
lowed upon  the  heel  with  sword  or  poison.  A private  malice 
indeed  does  not  move  whole  cities;  but  that  which  extends 
to  all  is  every  body’s  mark.  One  sick  person  gives  no  grea 
disturbance  in  a family ; but  when  it  comes  to  a depopu 
lating  plague,  all  people  fly  from  it.  And  why  should  a 
prince  expect  any  man  to  be  good  whom  he  has  taught  to 
be  wicked  1 

But  what  if  it  were  safe  to  be  cruel  ? were  it  not  still  a 
sad  thing,  the  very  state  of  such  a govern- 
ment  ? A government  that  bears  the  image  of  eminent  is  a 
a taken  city,  where  there  is  nothing  but  sor-  perpetual  state 
row,  trouble,  and  confusion.  Men  dare  not  so  ** 
much  as  trust  themselves  with  their  friends  or  with  their 
pleasures.  There  is  not  any  entertainment  so  innocent  but 
V2 


246 


SENECA  OF  ANGER. 


It  affords  pretence  of  crime  and  danger.  People  are  be- 
trayed at  their  tables  and  in  their  cups,  and  drawn  from  the 
very  theatre  to  the  prison.  How  horrid  a madness  is  it  to 
be  still  raging  and  killing  ; to  have  the  rattling  of  chains 
always  in  our  ears  ; bloody  spectacles  before  our  eyes  ; and 
to  carry  terror  and  dismay  wherever  we  go ! If  we  had 
lions  and  serpents,  to  rule  over  us,  this  would  be  the  man- 
ner of  their  government,  saving  that  they  agree  better 
among  themselves.  It  passes  for  a mark  of  greatness  to 
burn  cities,  and  lay  whole  kingdoms  waste ; nor  is  it  for  the 
honor  of  a prince  to  appoint  this  or  that  single  man  to  be 
killed,  unless  they  have  whole  troops,  or  (sometimes)  legions, 
to  work  upon.  But  it  is  not  the  spoils  of  war  and  bloody 
trophies  that  make  a prince  glorious,  but  the  divine  power 
of  preserving  xinity  and  peace.  Ruin  without  distinction, 
is  more  properly  the  business  of  a general  deluge,  or  a con- 
flagration. Neither  does  a fierce  and  inexorable  anger 
become  the  supreme  magistrate;  “Greatness  of  mind  is 
always  meek  and  humble;  but  cruelty  is  a note  and  an  ef- 
fect of  weakness,  and  brings  down  a governor  to  the  level 
of  a competitor.” 


SENECA  OF  CLEMENCY. 


The  humanity  and  excellence  of  this  virtue  is  confessed 
»t  all  hands,  as  well  by  the  men  of  pleasure,  and  those  that 
think  every  man  was  made  for  himself,  as  by  the  Stoics, 
that  make  “ man  a sociable  creature,  and  born  for  the  com- 
mon good  of  mankind for  it  is  of  all  dispositions  the  most 
peaceable  and  quiet.  But  before  we  enter  any  farther  upon 
the  discourse,  it  should  be  first  known  what  clemency  is, 
that  we  may  distinguish  it  ^Tom  pity  ; which  is  a weakness, 
though  many  times  mistaken  for  a virtue ; and  the  next 
thing  will  be,  to  bring  the  mind  to  the  habit  and  exercise 
of  it. 

“ Clemency  is  a favorable  disposition  of  the  mind,  in  the 
matter  of  inflicting  punishment ; or,  a modera- 
tion that  remits  somewhat  of  the  penalty  in-  "eT. 
curred ; as  pardon  is  the  total  remission  of  a 
deserved  punishment.”  We  must  be  careful  not  to  con- 
found clemency  viiih  pity;  for  as  religion  worships  God, 
and  superstition  profanes  that  worship ; so  should  we  dis- 
tinguish betwixt  clemency  a.x\A  pity;  practising  the  one, 
and  avoiding  the  other.  For  pity  proceeds  from  a narrow- 
ness of  mind,  that  respects  rather  the  fortune  than  the 
cause.  It  is  a kind  of  moral  sickness,  contracted  from  other 
people’s  misfortune:  such  another  weakness  as  laughino-  or 
yawning  for  company,  or  as  that  of  sick  eyes  that  cannot 
look  upon  others  that  are  bleared  without  dropping  them- 
selves. I will  give  a shipwrecked  man  a plank,  a lodgino- 
to  a stranger,  or  a piece  of  money  to  him  that  wants  it:  I 
will  dry  up  the  tears  of  my  friend,  yet  I will  not  weep  with 
him,  but  treat  him  with  constancy  and  humanity,  as  one 
man  ought  to  treat  another. 

It  is  objected  by  some,  that  clemency  is  an  insignificant 
virtue ; and  that  only  the  bad  are  the  better  ciemencv  is 
for  it,  for  the  good  have  no  need  of  it.  But  in  profitable 
the  first  place,  as  physic  is  in  use  only  among 
the  sick,  and  yet  iu  honor  with  the  .sound,  so  the  innocent 


248 


SENECA  OF  CLEMENCY. 


have  a reverence  for  clemency,  though  criminals  are  prop 
erly  the  objects  of  it.  And  then  again,  a man  may  be  inno- 
cent, and  yet  have  occasion  for  it  too ; for  by  the  accidents 
of  fortune,  or  the  condition  of  times,  virtue  itself  may  come 
to  be  in  danger.  Consider  the  most  populous  city  or  nation ; 
what  a solitude  would  it  be  if  none  should  be  left  there  but 
those  that  could  stand  the  test  of  a severe  justice!  We 
should  have  neither  judges  nor  accusers;  none  either  to 
grant  a pardon  or  to  ask  it.  More  or  less,  we  are  all  sin- 
ners; and  he  that  has  best  purged  his  conscience,  was 
brought  by  errors  to  repentance.  And  it  is  farther  profitable 
to  mankind ; for  many  delinquents  come  to  be  converted. 
There  is  a tenderness  to  be  used  even  toward  our  slaves, 
and  those  that  we  have  bought  with  our  money : how  much 
more  then  to  free  and  to  honest  men,  that  are  rather  under 
our  protection  than  dominion  ! Not  that  I would  have  it  so 
general  neither  as  not  to  distinguish  betwixt  the  good  and 
the  bad ; for  that  would  introduce  a confusion,  and  give  a 
kind  of  encouragement  to  wickedness.  It  must  therefore 
have  a respect  to  the  quality  of  the  offender,  and  separate 
the  curable  from  the  desperate ; for  it  is  an  equal  cruelty  to 
pardon  all  and  to  pardon  none.  Where  the  matter  is  in  bal- 
ance, let  mercy  turn  the  scale : if  all  wicked  men  should  be 
punished,  who  should  escape  1 

Though  mercy  and  gentleness  of  nature  keeps  all  in  peace 
Clemen  d tranquillity,  even  in  a cottage ; yet  it  is 

weiTh"p^ivate  much  more  beneficial  and  conspicuous  in  a 
persons,  but  it  palace.  Private  men  in  their  condition  are 
IS  more  benefi-  jj^ewise  private  in  their  virtues  and  in  their 
Vices ; but  the  words  and  the  actions  of  princes 
re  the  subject  of  public  rumor ; and  therefore  they  had 
need  have  a care,  what  occasion  they  give  people  for  dis- 
course, of  whom  people  will  be  always  a talking.  There  is 
the  government  of  a prince  over  his  people,  a father  over 
his  children,  a master  over  his  scholars,  an  officer  over  his 
soldiers.  He  is  an  unnatural  father,  that  for  every  trifle 
beats  his  children.  Who  is  the  better  master,  he  that  rages 
over  his  scholars  for  but  missing  a word  in  a lesson,  or  he 
that  tries,  by  admonition  and  fair  words,  to  instruct  and  re- 
form them  1 An  outrageous  officer  makes  his  men  run  from 
their  colors.  A skilful  rider  brings  his  horse  to  obedience 
by  mingling  fair  means  with  foul ; whereas  to  be  perpetually 
switching  and  spurring,  makes  him  vicious  and  jadish : and 


SENECA  OF  CLEMENCY. 


249 


shall  we  not  have  more  care  of  men  than  of  hcasts  1 It 
breaks  the  hope  of  generous  inclinations,  when  they  are 
depressed  by  servility  and  terror.  There  is  no  creature  so 
hard  to  be  pleased  with  ill  usage  as  man. 

Clemency  does  well  with  all,  but  best  with  princes ; for  it 
makes  their  power  comfortable  and  beneficial,  jg  the 

which  would  otherwise  be  the  pest  of  man-  interest  both 
kind.  It  establishes  their  greatness,  when  of  prince  and 
they  make  the  good  of  the  public  their  par- 
ticular care,  and  employ  their  power  for  the  safety  of  the 
people.  The  prince,  in  effect,  is  but  the  soul  of  the  commu- 
nity, as  the  community  is  only  the  body  of  the  prince;  so  that 
being  merciful  to  others,  he  is  tender  of  himself:  nor  is 
any  man  so  mean  but  his  master  feels  the  loss  of  him,  as  a 
part  of  his  empire : and  he  takes  care  not  only  of  the  lives 
of  his  people,  but  also  of  their  reputation.  Now,  giving  for 
granted  that  all  virtues  are  in  themselves  equal,  it  will  not 
yet  be  denied,  that  they  may  be  more  beneficial  to  mankind  in 
one  person  than  in  another.  A beggar  may  be  as  magnani- 
mous as  a king : for  what  can  be  greater  or  braver  than 
to  baffle  ill  fortune?  This  does  not  hinder  but  that  a man 
in  authority  and  plenty  has  more  matter  for  his  generosity 
to  work  upon  than  a private  person ; and  it  is  also  more 
taken  notice  of  upon  the  bench  than  upon  the  level.  When 
a gracious  prince  shows  himself  to  his  people,  they  do  not 
fly  from  him  as  from  a tiger  that  rouses  himself  out  of  his 
den,  but  they  worship  him  as  a benevolent  influence ; they 
secure  him  against  all  conspiracies,  and  interpose  their 
bodies  betwixt  him  and  danger.  They  guard  him  while  he 
sleeps,  and  defend  him  in  the  field  against  his  enemies. 
Nor  is  it  without  reason,  this  unanimous  agreement  in  love 
and  loyalty,  and  this  heroical  zeal  of  abandoning  themselves 
for  the  safety  of  their  prince ; but  it  is  as  well  the  interest 
of  the  people.  In  the  breath  of  a prince  there  is  life  and 
death  ; and  his  sentence  stands  good,  right  or  wrong.  If  he 
be  angry,  nobody  dares  advise  him ; and  if  he  does  amiss, 
who  shall  call  him  to  account?  Now,  for  him  that  has  so 
much  mischief  in  his  power,  and  yet  applies  that  power  to 
the  common  utility  and  comfort  of  his  people,  diffusing  also 
clemency  and  goodness  into  their  hearts  too,  what  can  be 
a greater  blessing  to  mankind  than  such  a prince?  Anp 
man  may  kill  another  against  the  law,  but  only  a prince 
can  save  him  so.  Let  him  so  deal  with  his  own  subjects  as 


250 


SENECA  OF  CLEMENCY, 


lie  desires  God  should  deal  with  him.  If  Heaven  should  be 
inexorable  to  sinners,  and  destroy  all  without  mercy,  what 
flesh  could  be  safe  1 But  as  the  faults  of  great  men  are  not 
presently  punished  with  thunder  from  above,  let  them  have 
a like  regard  to  their  inferiors  here  upon  earth.  He  that 
has  revenge  in  his  power,  and  does  not  use  it,  is  the  great 
man.  Which  is  the  more  beautiful  and  agreeable  state,  that 
of  a calm,  a temperate,  and  a clear  day;  or  that  of  light- 
ning, thunder,  and  tempests'!  and  this  is  the  very  difference 
betwixt  a moderate  and  turbulent  government.  It  is  for  low 
and  vulgar  spirits  to  brawl,  storm,  and  transport  them- 
selves: but  it  is  not  for  the  majesty  of  a prince  to  lash  out 
into  intemperance  of  words.  Some  will  think  it  rather 
slavery  than  empire  to  be  debarred  liberty  of  speech  : and 
what  if  it  be,  when  government  itself  is  but  a more  illustrious 
servitude!  He  that  uses  his  power  as  he  should,  takes  as 
much  delight  in  making  it  comfortable  to  his  people  as 
glorious  to  himself.  He  is  affable  and  easy  of  access;  his 
very  countenance  makes  him  the  joy  of  his  people’s  eyes, 
and  the  delight  of  mankind.  He  is  beloved,  defended,  and 
reverenced  by  all  his  subjects ; and  men  speak  as  well  of 
him  in  private  as  in  public.  He  is  safe  without  guards,  and  the 
sword  is  rather  his  ornament  than  his  defence.  In  his  duty, 
he  is  like  that  of  a good  father,  that  sometimes  gently 
reproves  a son,  sometimes  threatens  him ; nay,  and  perhaps 
corrects  him : but  no  father  in  his  right  wits  will  disinherit 
a son  for  the  first  fault : there  must  be  many  and  great 
offences,  and  only  desperate  consequences,  that  should  bring 
him  to  that  decretory  resolution.  He  will  make  many  ex- 
periments to  try  if  he  can  reclaim  him  first,  and  nothing 
but  the  utmost  despair  must  put  him  upon  extremities.  It 
is  not  flattery  that  calls  a prince  the  father  of  his  country; 
the  titles  of  great  and  august  are  matter  of  compliment 
and  of  honor;  but  in  calling  him  father,  we  mind  him  of 
that  moderation  and  indulgence  which  he  owes  to  his  chil 
dren.  His  subjects  are  his  members;  where,  if  there  must 
bo  an  amputation,  let  him  come  slowly  to  it ; and  when  the 
part  is  ent  off,  let  him  wish  it  were  on  again:  let  him 
grieve  in  the  doing  of  it.  He  that  passes  a sentence  hastily, 
looks  as  if  he  di\A  willingly ; and  then  there  is  an  in- 
justice in  the  excess. 

It  's  a glorious  contemplation  for  a prince,  first  to  con- 


SENECA  OF  CLEMENCV. 


251 


Elder  the  vast  multitudes  of  his  people,  whose  i,iesseJ  re- 
seditious,  divided,  and  impotent  passions,  flections  of  a 
would  cast  all  in  confusion,  and  destroy  them-™®'^‘^‘‘^“'  prince 
selves,  and  public  order  too,  if  the  band  of  government  did 
not  restrain  them;  and  thence  to  pass  the  examination 
of  his  conscience,  saying  thus  to  himself,  “It  is  by  the 
choice  of  Providence  that  I am  here  made  God’s  deputy 
upon  earth,  the  arbitrator  of  life  and  death;  and  that  upon 
my  breath  depends  the  fortune  of  my  people.  My  lips  are 
the  oracles  of  their  fate,  and  upon  them  hangs  the  destiny 
both  of  cities  and  of  men.  It  is  under  my  favor  that  people 
seek  either  for  prosperity  or  protection : thousands  of 
swords  are  drawn  or  sheathed  at  my  pleasure.  What 
towns  shall  be  advanced  or  destroyed  ; who  shall  be  slaves, 
or  who  free,  depends  upon  my  will ; and  yet,  in  this  arbi- 
trary power  of  acting  without  control,  I was  never  trans- 
ported to  do  any  cruel  thing,  either  by  anger  or  hot  blood 
in  myself,  or  by  the  contumacy,  rashness,  or  provocations 
of  other  men ; though  sufficient  to  turn  mercy  itself  into 
fury.  I was  never  moved  by  the  odious  vanity  of  making 
myself  terrible  by  my  power,  (that  accursed,  though  com- 
mon humor  of  ostentation  and  glory  that  haunts  imperious 
natures.)  My  sword  has  not  only  been  buried  in  the  scabbard, 
but  in  a manner  bound  to  the  peace,  and  tender  even  of  the 
cheapest  blood:  and  where  I find  no  other  motive  to  com- 
passion, humanity  itself  is  sufficient.  I have  been  always 
slow  to  severity,  and  prone  to  forgive ; and  under  as  strict 
a guard  to  observe  the  laws  as  if  I were  accountable  for  the 
breaking  of  them.  Some  I pardoned  for  their  youth,  others 
for  their  age.  I spare  one  man  for  his  dignity,  another  for 
his  humility;  and  when  I find  no  other  matter  to  work 
upon,  I spare  myself.  So  that  if  God  should  at  this  instant 
call  me  to  an  account,  the  whole  world  agree  to  witness  for 
me,  that  I have  not  by  any  force,  either  public  or  private, 
either  by  myself  or  by  any  other,  defrauded  the  common- 
wealth ; and  the  reputation  that  I have  ever  sought  for  has 
been  that  which  few  princes  have  obtained,  the  conscience 
of  my  proper  innocence.  And  I have  not  lost  my  labor 
neither;  for  no  man  was  ever  so  dear  to  another,  as  I have 
made  myself  to  the  whole  body  of  my  people.”  Under  such 
a prince  the  subjects  have  nothing  to  wish  for  beyond  what 
they  enjoy;  their  fears  are  quieted,  and  their  prayers  heard  • 
and  there  is  nothing  can  make  their  felicity  greater,  unless 


‘252 


SENECA  OF  CLEMENCY. 


to  make  it  perpetual ; and  there  is  no  liberty  denied  to  the 
])eople  but  that  of  destroying  one  another. 

It  is  the  interest  of  the  people,  by  the  consent  of  all  na- 
Upon  the  well-  tions,  to  run  all  hazards  for  the  safety  of  their 
prince  rilfpendB  P*"**^*^®’  thousand  deaths  to  redeem 

the  safety  of  that  one  life,  upon  which  so  many  millions 
the  people,  depend.  Does  not  the  whole  body  serve  the 
mind,  though  only  the  one  is  exposed  to  the  eye  and  the  other 
not,  but  thin  and  invisible,  the  very  seat  of  it  being  uncer- 
tain 1 Yet  the  hands,  feet,  and  eyes,  observe  the  motions  of 
it.  We  lie  down,  run  about  and  ramble,  as  that  commands 
us.  If  we  be  covetous,  we  fish  the  seas  and  ransack  the 
earth  for  treasure:  if  ambitious,  we  burn  our  own  flesh 
with  Scaevola;  we  cast  ourselves  into  the  gulf  with  Cur- 
tius ; so  would  that  vast  multitude  of  people,  which  is  ani- 
mated but  with  one  soul,  governed  by  one  spirit,  and  moved 
by  one  reason,  destroy  itself  with  its  own  strength,  if  it 
were  not  supported  by  wisdom  and  government.  Where- 
fore, it  is  for  their  own  security  that  the  people  expose  their 
lives  for  their  prince,  as  the  very  bond  that  ties  the  repub- 
lic together;  the  vital  spirit  of  so  many  thousands,  which 
would  be  nothing  else  but  a burden  and  prey  without  a 
governor.  When  this  union  comes  once  to  he  dissolved,  all 
falls  to  pieces ; for  empife  and  obedience  must  stand  and 
fall  together.  It  is  no  wonder  then  if  a prince  be  dear  to 
his  people,  when  the  community  is  wrapt  up  in  him,  and 
the  good  of  both  as  inseparable  as  the  body  and  the  head  ; 
the  one  for  strength,  and  the  other  for  counsel ; for  what 
signifies  the  force  of  the  body  without  the  direction  of  the 
understanding!  While  the  prince  watches,  his  people  sleep; 
his  lalior  keeps  them  at  ease,  and  his  business  keeps  them 
quiet.  The  natural  intent  of  monarchy  appears  even  from 
the  very  discipline  of  bees:  they  assign  to  their  master  the 
fairest  lodgings,  tlie  safest  place  ; and  his  office  is  only  to 
see  that  the  rest  perform  their  duties.  When  their  king  is 
lost,  the  whole  swarm  dissolve:  more  than  one  they  will  not 
admit;  and  then  they  contend  who  shall  have  the  best. 
They  are  of  all  creatures  the  fiercest  for  their  bigness ; and 
leave  their  stings  behind  them  in  their  quarrels;  only  the 
king  himself  has  none,  intimating  that  kings  should  neither 
be  vindictive  nor  cruel.  Is  it  not  a shame,  after  such  an 
example  of  moderation  in  these  creatures,  that  men  should 
be  yet  intemperate?  It  were  well  if  they' lost  their  stings 
too  in  their  revenge,  as  well  as  the  other,  that  they  might 


SENECA  OF  CLEMENCA'. 


253 

hurt  but  once,  and  do  no  mischief  by  their  proxies.  It 
would  tire  them  out,  if  either  they  were  to  execute  all 
with  their  own  hands,  or  to  wound  others  at  the  peril  of 
their  own  lives. 

A prince  should  behave  himself  generously  in  the  power 
which  God  has  given  him  of  life  and  death,  prince  that 
especially  towards  those  that  have  been  at  is  gracious  is 
any  time  his  equals ; for  the  one  has  his  re-  beloved, 
venge,  and  the  other  his  punishment  in  it.  He  that  stands 
ii:debted  for  his  life  has  lost  it;  but  he  that  receives  his  life 
at  the  foot  of  his  enemy,  lives  to  the  honor  of  his  preser- 
ver: he  lives  the  lasting  monument  of  his  virtue;  whereas, 
if  he  had  been  led  in  triumph,  the  spectacle  would  have 
been  quickly  over.  Or  what  if  he  should  restore  him  to  his 
kingdom  again  I would  it  not  be  an  ample  acce.ssion  to  his 
honor  to  show  that  he  found  nothing  about  the  conquered 
that  was  worthy  of  the  conqueror!  There  is  nothing  more 
venerable  than  a prince  that  does  not  revenge  an  injury. 
He  that  is  gracious  is  beloved  and  reverenced  as  a common 
father ; but  a tyrant  stands  in  fear  and  in  danger  even  of  his 
own  guards.  No  prince  can  be  safe  himself  of  whom  all 
others  are  afraid ; for  to  spare  none  is  to  enrage  all.  It  is  an 
error  to  imagine  that  any  man  can  be  secure  that  suffers 
nobody  else  to  be  so  too.  How  cart  any  man  endure  to  lead 
an  uneasy,  suspicious,  anxious  life,  when  he  may  be  safe  if 
he  please,  and  enjoy  all  the  blessings  of  power,  together 
with  the  prayers  of  his  people!  Clemency  protects  a prince 
without  a guard ; there  is  no  need  of  troops,  castles,  or 
fortifications:  securit}’ on  the  one  side  is  the  condition  of 
security  on  the  other ; and  the  affections  of  the  subject  are 
the  most  invincible  fortress.  What  can  be  fairer,  than  for 
a prince  to  live  the  object  of  his  people’s  love;  to  have  the 
vows  of  their  heart  as  well  as  of  their  lips,  and  his  health 
and  sickness  their  common  hopes  and  fears ! There  will  be 
no  danger  of  plots ; nay,  on  the  contrary,  who  would  not 
frankly  venture  his  blood  to  save  him,  under  whose  govern- 
ment, justice,  peace,  modesty,  and  dignity,  flourish!  under 
whose  influence  men  grow  rich  and  happy;  and  whom  men 
look  upon  with  such  veneration,  as  they  would  do  upon  the 
immortal  gods,  if  they  were  capable  of  seeing  them ! And 
as  the  true  representative  of  the  Almighty  they  considei 
him,  when  he  is  gracious  and  bountiful,  and  employs  his 
power  to  the  advantage  of  his  subjects. 

W 


254 


SENECA.  OF  CLEMENCY. 


When  a prince  proceeds  to  punishment,  it  must  be  eithe.' 
tvhere  punish-  vindicate  himself  or  others.  It  is  a hara 
ment  is  neces-  matter  to  govern  himself  in  his  own  case.  If 
* moderate  ^ should  advise  him  not  to  be  credulous, 
but  to  examine  matters,  and  indulge  the  inno- 
cent, this  is  rather  a point  of  justice  than  of  clemency : but 
in  case  that  he  be  manifestly  injured,  I would  have  him 
forgive,  where  he  may  safely  do  it : and  be  tender  even 
w'here  he  cannot  forgive ; but  far  more  exorable  in  his 
own  case,  however,  than  in  another’s.  It  is  nothing  to  be 
free  of  another  man’s  purse;  and  it  is  as  little  to  be  merci- 
ful in  another  man’s  cause.  He  is  the  great  man  that  mas- 
ters his  passion  where  he  is  stung  himself,  and  pardons 
when  he  might  destroy.  The  end  of  punishment  is  either 
to  comfort  the  party  injured,  or  to  secure  him  for  the  future. 
A prince’s  fortune  is  above  the  need  of  such  a comfort,  and 
his  power  is  too  eminent  to  seek  an  advance  of  reputation 
by  doing  a private  man  a mischief  This  I speak  in  case 
of  an  affront  from  those  that  are  below  us:  but  he  that  of 
an  equal  has  made  any  man  his  inferior,  has  his  revenge  in 
the  bringing  of  him  down.  A prince  has  been  killed  by  a 
servant,  destroyed  by  a serpent;  but  whosoever  preserves  a 
man,  must  be  greater  than  the  person  that  he  preserves. 
With  citizens,  strangers!  and  people  of  low  condition,  a 
prince  is  not  to  contend,  for  they  are  beneath  him:  he  may 
spare  some  out  of  good-will,  and  others  as  he  would  do  some 
little  creatures  that  a man  cannot  touch  without  fouling  his 
fingers : but  for  those  that  are  to  be  pardoned,  or  exposed  to 
public  punishment,  he  may  use  mercy  as  he  sees  occasion ; 
and  a generous  mind  can  never  want  inducements  and  mo- 
tives to  it;  and  whether  it  be  age  or  sex,  high  or  low,  no- 
thing comes  amiss. 

To  pass  now  to  the  vindication  of  others,  there  must  be 
had  a regard  either  to  the  amendment  of  the 

punishment,  person  puiiished,  or  the  making  others  better 
for  fear  of  punishment,  or  the  taking  the  of- 
fender out  of  the  way  for  the  security  of  others.  An  amend- 
ment may  be  procured  by  a small  punishment:  for  he  lives 
more  carefully  that  has  something  yet  to  lose;  it  is  a kind 
of  impunity  to  be  incapable  of  a farther  punishment.  The 
corruptions  of  a city  are  best  cured  by  a few  and  sparing 
severities ; for  the  multitude  of  offenders  creates  a custom 
of  offending,  and  company  authorizes  a crime,  and  there  ia 


SENECA.  OF  CLEMENCY. 


25o 


more  good  to  be  done  upon  a dissolute  age  hy  patience  than 
by  rigor ; provided  that  it  pass  not  for  an  approbation  of 
ill-manners,  but  only  as  an  unwillingness  to  proceed  to 
extremities.  Under  a merciful  prince,  a man  will  be 
ashamed  to  offend,  because  a punishment  that  is  inflicted  by 
a gentle  governor  seems  to  fall  heavier,  and  with  more  re- 
proach : and  it  is  remarkable  also,  that  “those  sins  are 
often  committed  which  are  very  often  punished.”  Caligula, 
in  five  years,  condemned  more  people  to  the  sack  than  ever 
were  before  him:  and  there  were  “fewer  parricides  before 
the  law  against  them  than  after.”  For  our  ancestors  did 
wisely  presume,  that  the  crime  would  never  be  committed, 
until  by  law  for  punishing  it,  they  found  that  it  might  be 
done.  Parricides  began  with  the  law  against  them,  and 
the  jiunishment  instructed  men  in  the  crime.  Where  there 
are  few  punishments,  innocency  is  indulged  as  a public 
good,  and  it  is  a dangerous  thing  to  show  a city  how  strong 
it  is  in  delinquents.  There  is  a certain  contumacy  in  the 
nature  of  man,  that  makes  him  oppose  difficulties.  We  are 
better  to  follow  than  to  drive;  as  a generous  horse  rides 
best  with  an  easy  bit.  People  obey  willingly  where  they 
are  commanded  kindly.  When  Burrhus  the  prefect  was 
to  sentence  two  malefactors,  he  brought  the  warrant  to  Nero 
to  sign ; who,  after  a long  reluctancy,  came  to  it  at  last 
with  this  exclamation,  “I  would  I could  not  write!”  A 
speech  that  deserved  the  whole  world  for  an  auditory,  but 
all  princes  especially  ; and  that  the  hearts  of  all  the  subjects 
would  conform  to  the  likeness  of  their  masters.  As  the  head 
is  well  or  ill,  so  is  the  mind  dull  or  merry.  What  is  the 
difference  betwixt  a king  and  a tyrant,  but  a diversity  of 
will  under  one  and  the  same  power?  The  one  destroys  for 
his  pleasure,  the  other  upon  necessity;  a distinction  rather 
in  fact  than  in  name. 

A gracious  prince  is  armed  as  well  as  a tyrant ; but  it  is 
for  the  defence  of  his  people,  and  not  for  the  ruin  of  them. 
No  king  can  ever  have  faithful  servants  that  accustoms  them 
to  tortures  and  executions:  the  very  guilty  themselves  do 
not  lead  so  anxious  a life  as  the  persecutors:  for  they  are 
not  only  afraid  of  justice,  both  divine  and  human,  but  it  is 
dangerous  for  them  to  mend  their  manners ; so  that  when 
they  are  once  in,  they  must  continue  to  be  wicked  upon  ne- 
cessity. An  universal  hatred  unites  in  a popular  rage.  A 
temperate  fear  may  be  kept  in  order;  but  when  it  comes 
once  to  be  continual  and  sharp,  it  provokes  people  to  ex- 


236 


SENECA  OF  CLEMENCY. 


tremities,  and  transports  them  to  desperate  resolutions;  as 
wild  beasts,  when  they  are  pressed  upon  the  toil,  turn  back, 
and  assault  the  very  pursuers.  A turbulent  government  is 
a perpetual  trouble  both  to  prince  and  people ; and  he  that 
is  a terror  to  all  others  is  not  without  terror  also  himself. 
Frequent  punishments  and  revenges  may  suppress  the 
hatred  of  a few,  but  then  it  stirs  up  the  detestation  of  all. 
So  that  there  is  no  destroying  one  enemy  without  making 
many.  It  is  good  to  master  the  will  of  being  cruel,  even 
while  there  may  be  cause  for  it,  and  matter  to  work  upon. 

Augustus  was  a gracious  prince  when  he  had  the  power 
A famous  in-  triumviracy  he 

stance  of  Au-  made  use  of  his  sword,  and  had  his  friends 
gustiis’s  clem-  ready  armed  to  set  upon  Antony  during  that 
dispute.  But  he  behaved  himself  afterwards 
at  another  rate ; for  when  he  was  betwi.vt  forty  and  fifty 
years  of  age  he  was  told  that  Cinna  was  in  a plot  to  murder 
him,  with  the  time,  place,  and  manner  of  the  design ; and 
this  from  one  of  the  confederates.  Upon  this  he  resolved 
upon  a revenge,  and  sent  for  several  of  his  friends  to  advise 
upon  it.  The  thought  of  it  kept  him  waking,  to  consider, 
that  there  was  the  life  of  a young  nobleman  in  the  case,  the 
.lephew  of  Pompey,  and  a person  otherwise  innocent.  He 
was  off  and  on  several  times  whether  he  should  put  liim  to 
death  or  not.  “ What !”  says  he,  “ shall  I live  in  trouble 
and  in  danger  myself,  and  the  contriver  of  my  death  walk 
free  and  secure  1 Will  nothing  serve  him  but  that  life  which 
Providence  has  preserved  in  so  many  civil  wars;  in  so 
many  battles  both  by  sea  and  land ; and  now  in  the  state  of 
an  universal  peace  tool  and  not  a simple  murder  either, 
but  a sacrifice  ; for  I am  to  be  assaulted  at  the  very  altar; 
and  shall  the  contriver  of  all  this  villany  escape  unpunish- 
ed!” Here  Augustus  made  a little  pause,  and  then  recol- 
lecting himself:  “No,  no,  C®sar,”  says  he,  “it  is  rather 
Csesar  than  Cinna  that  I am  to  be  angry  with : why  do  1 
myself  live  any  longer  after  that  my  death  is  become  the 
interest  of  so  many  people!  And  if  I go  on,  what  end  will 
there  be  of  blood,  and  of  punishment!  If  it  be  against  my 
life  that  the  nobility  arm  itself,  and  levels  their  weapons, 
my  single  life  is  not  worth  the  while,  if  so  many  must  be 
destroyed  that  I may  be  preserved.”  His  wife  Livia  gave 
him  here  an  interruption,  and  desired  him  that  he  would 
‘or  once  hear  a woman’s  counsel.  “ Do,”  says  she,  “ like  a 
ohysician,  that  when  common  remedies  fail  will  try  the 


SENECA  OF  CLEMENCY. 


‘257 


contrary : you  have  got  nothing  hitherto  by  severity ; after 
Salvidianus,  there  followed  Lepidus;  after  him  Muraeua: 
Caepio  followed  him,  and  Egnatius  followed  Caepio;  try  now 
what  mercy  will  do,  forgive  Cinna.  He  is  discovered,  and 
can  do  no  hurt  to  your  person;  and  it  will  yet  advantage 
you  in  your  reputation.”  Augustus  was  glad  of  the  advice, 
and  he  gave  thanks  for  it;  and  thereupon  countermanded 
the  meeting  of  his  friends,  and  ordered  Cinna  to  be  brought 
to  him  alone ; for  whom  he  caused  a chair  to  be  set,  and  then 
discharged  the  rest  of  the  company.  “ Cinna,”  says  Augus- 
tus, “ before  I go  any  farther,  you  must  promise  not  to  give 
mo  the  interruption  of  one  syllable  until  I have  told  you  all 
1 have  to  say,  and  you  shall  have  liberty  afterwards  to  say 
what  you  please.  You  cannot  forget,  that  when  I found  you 
in  arms  against  me,  and  not  only  made  my  enemy,  but  horn 
so,  I gave  you  your  life  and  fortune.  Upon  your  petition 
for  the  priesthood,  I granted  it,  with  a repulse  to  the  sons 
of  those  that  had  been  my  fellow-soldiers ; and  you  are  at 
this  day  so  happy  and  so  rich,  that  even  the  conquerors  envy 
him  that  is  overcome ; and  yet  after  all  this,  you  are  in  a 
plot,  Cinna,  to  murder  me.”  At  that  word  Cinna  started, 
and  interposed  with  exclamations,  “ that  certainly  he  was 
far  from  being  either  so  wicked  or  so  mad.”  “ This  is  a 
breach  of  conditions,  Cinna,”  says  Augustus,  “ it  is  not  your 
time  to  speak  yet:  I tell  you  again,  that  you  are  in  a plot  to 
murder  me:”  and  so  he  told  him  the  time,  the  place,  the 
confederates,  the  order  and  manner  of  the  design,  and  who 
it  was  that  was  to  do  the  deed.  Cinna,  upon  this,  fixed  his 
eye  upon  the  ground  without  any  reply : not  for  his  word’s 
sake,  but  as  in  a confusion  of  conscience : and  so  Augustus 
went  on.  “ What”  says  he,  “ may  your  design  be  in  all  this  1 
Is  it  that  you  would  pretend  to  step  into  my  place  1 The 
commonwealth  were  in  an  ill  condition,  if  only  Augustus 
were  in  the  way  betwixt  you  and  the  government.  You 
were  cast  the  other  day  in  a cause  by  one  of  your  own  free- 
men, and  do  you  expect  to  find  a weaker  adversary  of  Cassar? 
But  what  if  I were  removed]  There  is  ^Emilius  Paulus, 
Fabius  Maximus,  and  twenty  other  families  of  great  blood 
and  interest,  that  would  never  bear  it.”  To  cut  off  the 
story  short;  (for  it  was  a discourse  of  dbove  two  hours;  and 
Augustus  lengthened  the  punishment  in  words,  since  he 
intended  that  should  be  all;)  “Well,  Cinna,”  says  he,  “the 
life  that  I gave  to  you  once  as  an  enemy,  I will  now  repeat 
it  to  a traitor  and  to  a parricide ; and  this  shall  be  the  last 
W 2 


258 


SENECA  OF  CLEMENCY. 


reproach  I will  give  you.  For  the  time  to  come  there  shall 
be  no  other  contention  betwixt  you  and  me,  than  which 
shall  outdo  the  other  in  point  of  friendship.”  After  this 
Augustus  made  Cinna  consul,  (an  honor  which  he  confessed 
he  durst  not  so  much  as  desire)  and  Cinna  was  ever  affec- 
tionately faithful  to  him:  he  made  Caesar  his  sole  heir; 
and  this  was  the  last  conspiracy  that  ever  was  formed  against 
him. 

This  moderation  of  Augustus  was  the  excellency  of  his 
AuKustus’smod- mature  age  f for  in  his  youth  he  was  passion- 
eration  to  his  ate  and  sudden;  and  he  did  many  things 
enemies.  which  afterward  he  looked  back  upon  with 
trouble:  after  the  battle  of  Actium,  so  many  navies  broken 
n Sicily,  both  Roman  and  strangers : the  Perusiun  altars, 
where  500  lives  were  sacrificed  to  the  ghost  of  Julius;) 
his  frequent  proscriptions,  and  other  severities ; his  tem- 
perance at  last  seemed  to  be  little  more  than  a weary  cru- 
elty. If  he  had  not  forgiven  those  that  he  conquered.  Whom 
should  he  have  governed?  He  chose  his  very  life-guard 
from  among  his  enemies,  and  the  flower  of  the  Romans  owed 
their  lives  to  his  clemency.  Nay,  he  only  punished  Lepidus 
himself  with  banishment,  and  permitted  him  to  wear  the 
ensigns  of  his  dignity,  without  taking  the  pontificate  to 
himself  so  long  as  Lepidus  was  living;  for  he  would  not 
possess  it  as  a spoil,  but  as  an  honor.  This  clemency  it  was 
that  secured  him  in  his  greatness,  and  ingratiated  him  to  the 
people,  though  he  laid  his  hand  upon  the  government  before 
hey  had  thoroughly  submitted  to  Iheyoke;  and  thisclemency 
t was  that  made  his  name  famous  \o  posterity.  This  is  it 
that  makes  us  reckon  him  divine  without  the  authority  of 
an  apotheosis.  He  was  so  tender  and  patient,  that  though 
many  a bitter  jest  was  broken  upon  him,  (and  contumelies 
upon  princes  are  the  most  intolerable  of  all  injuries')  yet  he 
never  punished  any  man  upon  that  subject.  It  is,  then, 
generous  to  be  merciful,  when  we  have  it  in  our  power  to 
lake  revenge. 

A son  of  Titus  Arius,  being  examined  and  found  guilty 
A merciful  0^ parricide,  was  banished  Rome,  and  confined 
judgment  of  to  Marseilles,  where  his  father  allowed  him 
Augustus,  same  annuity  that  he  had  before;  which 

made  all  people  conclude  him  guilty,  when  they  saw  that 
his  father  had  yet  condemned  the  son  that  he  could  not 
hate.  Augustus  was  pleased  to  sit  upon  the  fact  in  the  house 
of  Arius,  only  as  a single  member  of  the  council  that  was  to 


SSENECA  OF  CLEMENCY. 


259 


axamine  it:  if  it  had  been  in  Csesar’s  palace,  the  judgment 
must  have  been  Cajsar’s  and  not  the  father's.  Upon  a full 
hearing  of  the  matter,  Cssar  directed  that  every  man  should 
write  his  opinion  whether  guilty  or  not,  and  without  de- 
claring of  his  own,  for  fear  of  a partial  vote.  Before  the 
opening  of  the  books,  Cassar  passed  an  oath,  that  he  would 
not  be  Arius’s  heir : and  to  show  that  he  had  no  interest  in 
his  sentence,,  as  appeared  afterw’ard ; for  he  was  not  con- 
demned to  the  ordinary  punishments  of  parricides,  nor  to 
a prison,  but,  by  the  mediation  of  Cfesar,  only  banished 
Rome,  and  confined  to  the  place  which  his  father  should 
name;  Augustus  insisting  upon  it,  that  the  father  should 
content  himself  with  an  easy  punishment;  and  arguing,  that 
the  young  man  was  not  moved  to  the  attempt  by  malice,  and 
that  he  was  but  half  resolved  upon  the  fact,  for  he  wavered 
in  it;  and,  therefore,  to  remove  him  from  the  city,  and  from 
his  father’s  sight,  would  be  sufficient.  This  is  a glorious 
mercy,  and  worthy  of  a prince,  to  make  all  things  gentler 
wherever  he  comes.  How  miserable  is  that  man  in  him- 
self, who,  w’hen  he  has  employed  his  power  in  rapines  and 
cruelty  upon  others,  is  yet  more  unhappy  in  himself!  He 
stands  in  fear  both  of  his  domestics  and  of  strangers  ; the 
faith  of  his  friends  and  the  piety  of  his  children,  and  flies  to 
actual  violence  to  secure  him  from  the  violence  he  fears. 
When  he  comes  to  look  about  him,  and  to  consider  what  he 
has  done,  what  he  must,  and  what  he  is  about  to  do ; what 
with  the  wickedness,  and  with  the  torments  of  his  conscience, 
many  times  he  fears  death,  oftener  he  wishes  for  it;  and 
lives  more  odious  to  himself  than  to  his  subjects ; whereas 
on  the  contrary,  he  that  takes  a care  of  the  public,  though 
of  one  part  more  perhaps  than  of  another,  yet  there  is  not 
any  part  of  it  but  he  looks  upon  as  part  of  himself  His 
mind  is  tender  and  gentle;  and  even  where  punishment  is 
necessary  and  profitable,  he  comes  to  it  unwillingly,  and 
without  any  rancor  or  enmity  in  his  heart.  Let  the  au- 
thority, in  fine,  be  what  it  will,  clemency  becomes  it ; and 
the  greater  the  power,  the  greater  is  the  glory  of  it.  “ It  is 
a truly  royal  virtue  for  a prince  to  deliver  his  people  from 
other  men’s  anger,  and  not  to  oppress  them  with  his  own.’ 


-1 


■ 'V 


Av.  -V  ''I 


'•  . 


; ■ V-'  '■  ' .'  • ■ ' 

.■ ; -.'iU 

-v'.  .f-*".  ■ ■ ■ . - ’ i 

• • - 'j  . ‘ ■'  kr.  c ''  ' 


EPISTLES. 


EPISTLE  I. 

Certain  general  directions  for  the  government  of  the  voice: 
as  in  speaking  soft  or  loud ; quick  or  slow  : the  speech 
is  the  index  of  the  mind. 

You  say  well,  that  in  speaking,  the  very  ordering  of  the 
oice  (to  say  nothing  of  the  actions,  countenances,  and  other 
ircumstances  that  accompany  it)  is  a consideration  worthy 
f a wise  man.  There  are  that  prescribe  certain  modes  of 
ising  and  falling ; nay,  if  you  will  be  governed  by  them, 
/OU  shall  not  speak  a word,  move  a step,  or  eat  a bit,  but  by 
a rule ; and  these  perhaps  are  too  critical.  Do  not  under- 
stand me  yet  as  if  I made  no  difference  betwixt  entering 
upon  a discourse,  loud  or  soft;  for  the  affections  do  naturally 
rise  by  degrees:  and  in  all  disputes  or  pleadings,  whether 
public  or  private,  a man  should  properly  begin  with  modesty 
and  temper;  and  so  advance  by  little  and  little,  if  need  be, 
into  clamor  and  vociferation.  And  as  the  voice  rises  by  de- 
grees, let  it  fall  so  too ; not  snapping  off  upon  a sudden,  but 
abating  as  upon  moderation:  the  other  is  unmannerly  and 
rude.  He  that  has  a precipitate  speech  is  commonly  violent 
in  his  manners;  beside  that  there  is  in  it  much  of  vanity 
and  emptiness;  and  no  man  takes  satisfaction  in  a flux  of 
words  without  choice,  where  the  noise  is  more  tlian  the 
value.  Fabius  was  a man  eminent  both  for  his  life  and 
learning,  and  no  less  for  his  eloquence : his  speech  was 
rather  easy  and  sliding  than  quick ; which  he  accounted  to 
be  not  only  liable  to  many  errors,  but  to  a suspicion  of  im- 
modesty. Nay,  let  a man  have  words  never  so  much  at 
will,  he  will  no  more  speak  fast  than  he  will  run,  for  fear 
his  tongue  should  get  before  his  wit.  The  speech  of  a phi- 
losopher  should  be,  like  his  life,  composed,  w ithout  pressing 
or  stumbling ; which  is  fitter  for  a mountebank  than  a man 


262 


EPISTI  ES. 


of  sobriety  and  business.  And  then,  to  drop  one  word  after 
another  is  as  bad  on  the  other  side : the  interruption  is  te- 
dious, and  tires  out  the  auditor  with  expectation.  Truth 
and  morality  should  be  delivered  in  words  plain,  and  with- 
out affectation  ; for,  like  remedies,  unless  they  stay  with  us, 
we  are  never  the  better  for  them.  He  that  would  work  upon 
his  hearers,  must  no  more  expect  to  do  it  upon  the  post, 
jthan  a physician  to  cure  his  patients  only  in  passing  by 
'them.  Not  but  that  I would  have  a wise  man,  in  some 
cases,  to  raise  himself,  and  mend  his  pace,  but  still  with  a 
regard  to  the  dignity  of  his  manners : though  there  may  be 
a gieat  force  also  in  moderation.  I would  have  his  dis- 
course smooth  and  flowing,  like  a river;  not  impetuous, 
like  a torrent.  There  is  a rapid,  lawless,  and  irrevocable 
velocity  of  speech,  which  I would  scarce  allow  even  to  an 
orator;  for  if  he  be  transported  with  passion  or  ostentation, 
man’s  attention  can  hardly  keep  him  company.  It  is  not 
he  quantity,  but  the  pertinence,  that  does  the  business.  Let 
the  words  of  an  ancient  man  flow  soft  and  gentle ; let  those 
of  an  orator  come  off  round  and  powerful;  but  not  run  on 
without  fear  or  wit,  as  if  the  whole  declamation  were  to  be 
but  one  period.  Cicero  wrote  with  care,  and  that  which 
will  for  ever  stand  the  test.  All  public  languages  are  ac- 
cording to  the  humor  of  the  age.  A waiitonness  and  ef 
feminacy  of  speech  denotes  luxury;  for  the  wit  follows  the 
mind  : if  the  latter  be  sound,  composed,  temperate,  and 
grave,  the  wit  is  dry  and  sober  too;  but  if  the  one  be  cor- 
rupted, the  other  is  likewise  unsound.  Do  we  not  see  when 
a man’s  mind  is  heavy,  how  he  creeps  and  draws  his  legs 
after  him  1 A finical  temper  is  read  in  the  very  gestures 
and  clothes;  if  a man  be  choleric  and  violent,  it  is  also  dis- 
covered in  his  motions.  An  angry  man  speaks  short  and 
quick;  the  speech  of  an  effeminate  man  is  loose  and  melt- 
ing. A quaint  and  solicitous  way  of  speaking  is  the  sign 
of  a weak  mind ; but  a great  man  speaks  with  ease  and 
freedom;  and  with  more  assurance;  though  less  care. 
Speech  is  an  index  of  the  mind  : when  you  see  a man  dress 
and  set  his  clothes  in  print,  you  shall  be  sure  to  find  his 
words  so  too,  and  nothing  in  them  that  is  firm  and  weighty: 
it  does  not  become  a man  to  be  delicate.  As  it  is  in  drink, 
the  tongue  never  trips  till  the  mind  be  overborne,  so  it  is 
with  speech  ; so  long  as  the  mind  is  whole  and  sound,  the 
speech  is  masculine  and  strong,  but  if  one  fails,  the  other 
follows. 


EPISTLES. 


263 


EPISTLE  II. 

Of  styles,  compositions,  and  the  choice  of  words.  That  is 
the  best  way  of  writing  and  speaking  which  is  free  and 
natural.  Advice  concerning  reading. 

You  cannot  expect  any  certain  and  universal  rule,  either 
for  the  style,  or  for  the  manner  of  speaking  or  writing; 
because  they  vary  according  to  usage  and  occasion ; so  that 
we  must  content  ourselves  with  generals.  Men  write  and 
speak  commonly  according  to  the  humor  of  the  age  they 
live  in ; and  there  is  also  a correspondence  betwixt  the 
language  and  the  life  of  particular  persons;  as  one  may 
give  a near  guess  at  a man  by  his  very  gait,  furniture,  and 
clothes.  In  the  first  place,  let  the  sense  be  honest  and 
noble ; not  pinched  up  in  sentences,  but  substantial  and  of 
higher  design,  with  nothing  in  it  superfluous.  Let  the  words 
be  fitted  to  the  matter;  and  where  the  subject  is  familiar, 
let  the  style  be  so  too ; but  great  thoughts  must  have  suit- 
able expressions ; and  there  ought  to  be  a kind  of  transport 
in  the  one  to  answer  it  in  the  other.  It  is  not  enough  to 
compose  a pleasant  fable,  and  tickle  the  fancy ; but  he  that 
treats  of  weighty  matters  must  do  it  in  grave  and  sober 
terms.  There  are  some  that  have  not  so  much  of  the  vigor 
of  an  orator,  or  of  that  sententious  sharpness;  and  yet  the 
worthiness  of  the  sense  makes  amends  for  the  lowness  of 
the  style. — Our  forefathers  were  not  at  all  delighted  with 
fine  words  and  flowers:  but  their  compositions  were  strong, 
equal,  and  manly.  We  have  now-a-days  here  and  there  a 
point;  but  the  work  is  uneven,  where  only  this  or  that 
particular  is  remarkable.  We  never  admire  this  or  thatsingle 
tree,  where  the  whole  wood  is  all  of  a height.  A specious 
title-page  may  commend  a book  to  sale,  but  not  for  use.  An 
eminent  author  is  to  be  taken  down  whole,  and  not  here  and 
there  a bit.  It  is  a maiming  of  the  body  to  take  the  members 
of  it  apart ; nor  is  it  a handsome  leg  or  arm  that  makes  a 
handsome  man,  but  the  symmetry  and  agreement  of  all  to- 
gether. It  is  the  excellency  of  speaking  and  writing  to  do  it 
close,  and  in  words  accommodate  to  the  intention ; and  I would 
yet  have  somewhat  more  to  be  signified  than  is  delivered  ; 
it  being  also  a mark  of  strength  and  solidity  of  judgment. 
The  propriety  of  words,  in  some  cases,  is  wonderful ; espe- 


2G4 


EPISTLES. 


cially  wbf'n  we  are  well  read  in  the  knowledge  of  things 
and  of  doties;  and  there  is  a singular  grace  in  the  gentle- 
ness of  numbers,  when  they  run  smooth  and  without  per- 
turbation. Some  are  raised  and  startled  at  words,  as  a 
horse  is  at  a drum,  and  indulge  the  very  passion  of  the 
speaker:  others  are  moved  with  the  beauty  of  things;  and 
when  they  hear  any  thing  bravely  urged  against  death  or 
fortune,  they  do  secretly  wish  for  some  occasion  of  experi- 
menting that  generosity  in  themselves : but  not  one  of  a 
thousand  of  them  that  carries  the  resolution  home  with  him 
that  he  had  conceived.  It  is  an  easy  matter  to  excite  an 
auditory  to  the  love  of  goodness,  having  already  the  founda- 
tion and  seeds  of  virtue  within  themselves:  so  that  it  is  but 
awakening  the  consideration  of  it,  where  all  men  are  agreed 
beforehand  upon  the  main.  Who  is  so  sordid  as  not  to  be 
roused  at  such  a speech  as  tins'!  “The  poor  man  wants 
many  things,  but  the  covetous  man  wants  all.”  Can  any  flesh 
forbear  being  delighted  with  this  saying,  though  a satire 
against  his  own  vice!  As  to  forced  metaphors,  and  wild 
hyperboles,  I would  leave  them  to  the  poets.  And  I am 
utterly  against  fooling  with  tinkling  conceits  and  sounds, 
not  that  I would  wholly  forbid  the  use  of  hyperboles ; which, 
although  they  exceed  the  truth,  may  yet  be  a means,  by 
things  incredible,  to  bring  us  unto  things  credible.  And 
there  may  be  great  use  made  also  of  parables:  for  the  way 
of  application  does  usually  more  affect  the  mind  than  the 
downright  meaning.  That  speech  which  gains  upon 
the  passion  is  much  more  profitable  than  that  which  only 
works  upon  the  judgment.  Chrysippus  was  a great  man, 
! nd  of  an  acute  wit ; but  the  edge  of  it  was  so  fine, 
that  every  thing  turned  it ; and  he  might  be  said,  in  truth, 
rather  to  prick  the  subject  that  he  handled  than  to  pierce  it 
through. 

As  it  is  not  for  the  honor  of  a philosopher  to  be  solicitous 
about  words,  I would  not  have  him  negligent  neither:  but 
let  him  speak  with  assurance,  and  without  affectation.  If  we 
can,  let  our  discourses  be  powerful;  but,  however,  let  them 
be  clear.  I like  a composition  that  is  nervous  and  strong ; 
but  yet  I would  have  it  sweet  and  gracious  withal.  There 
are  many  things,  I know,  that  please  well  enough  in  the 
delivery,  and  yet  will  hardly  abide  the  test  of  an  examina- 
tion : but  that  eloquence  is  mischievous  that  diverts  a man 
from  things  to  words ; and  little  better  than  a prostitution  of 
letters.  For  what  signifies  the  pomp  of  words,  or  the  jum 


EPISTLES. 


265 


bling  of  syllables,  to  the  making  up  of  a wise  man  1 Tully's 
composition,  indeed,  is  equal,  his  numbers  are  harmonious, 
free,  and  gentle ; and  yet  he  takes  a care  not  to  make  any 
forfeiture  of  his  gravity.  Fabian  is  a great  man,  in  being 
second  to  Cicero;  Pollia  a great  man  too,  though  a step 
below  him ; and  so  is  Livy  likewise,  though  he  comes  after 
the  other  three.  But  several  subjects  require  several  excel- 
lencies. An  orator  should  be  sharp,  the  tragedian  great, 
and  the  comedian  pleasant.  When  a man  declaims  against 
vice,  let  him  be  bitter ; against  danger,  bold ; against  for- 
tune, proud ; against  ambition,  reproachful ; let  him  chide 
luxury,  defame  lust:  an  impotency  of  mind  must  be  broken. 
In  these  cases  words  are  the  least  part  of  an  honest  man’s 
business. 

In  the  matter  of  composition,  I would  write  as  I speak, 
with  easei  and  freedom;  for  it  is  more  friendly  as  well  as 
more  natural ; and  so  much  my  inclination,  that  if  I could 
make  my  mind  visible  to  you,  I would  neither  speak  nor 
write  it.  If  I put  my  thoughts  in  good  sense,  the  matter  of 
ornament  I shall  leave  to  the  orators.  There  are  some 
things  that  a man  may  write  even  as  he  travels ; others  that 
require  privacy  and  leisure.  But,  however,  it  is  good  in 
writing,  as  in  other  cases,  to  leave  the  best  bits  for  the  last. 
A philosopher  has  no  more  to  do  than  to  speak  properly, 
and  in  words  that  express  his  meaning.  And  this  may  be 
done  without  tossing  of  the  hands,  stamping,  or  any  vioient 
agitation  of  the  body;  without  either  the  vanity  of  the 
theatre  on  the  one  hand,  or  an  insipid  heaviness  on  the 
other.  I would  have  his  speech  as  plain  and  single  as  his 
life ; for  he  is  then  as  good  as  his  word,  when  both  hearing 
him  and  seeing  him,  we  find  him  to  be  the  same  person. 
And  yet  if  a man  can  be  eloquent  without  more  pains  than 
the  thing  is  worth,  let  him  use  his  faculty ; provided  that 
he  value  himself  upon  the  matter  more  than  upon  the  words ; 
and  apply  himself  rather  to  the  understanding  than  to  the 
fancy:  for  this  is  a business  of  virtue,  not  a trial  of  wit. 
Who  is  there  that  would  not  rather  have  a healing  than  a 
rhetorical  physician  ? But  for  esteeming  any  man  purely 
upon  the  score  of  his  rhetoric,  I would  as  soon  choose  a 
pilot  for  a good  head  of  hair. 

In  the  matter  of  reading,  I would  fix  upon  some  particu- 
lar authors,  and  make  them  my  own.  He  that  is  every- 
where is  nowhere;  but,  like  a man  that  spends  his  life  in 
travel,  he  has  many  hosts,  but  few  friends ; which  is  the 
X 


263 


EPISTLES. 


very  condition  of  him  that  skips  from  one  book  to  another; 
the  variety  does  but  distract  his  head,  and,  for  vi'ant  of  di- 
gesting^, it  turns  to  corruption  instead  of  nourishment.  It 
is  a good  argument  of  a well-composed  mind  when  a man 
loves  home,  and  to  keep  company  with  himself;  whereas  a 
rambling  head  is  a certain  sign  of  a sickly  humor.  Many 
books,  and  many  acquaintances,  bring  a man  to  a levity  of 
disposition  and  a liking  of  change.  What  is  the  body  the 
better  for  meat  that  will  not  stay  with  it]  nor  is  there  any 
thing  more  hurtful  in  the  case  of  diseases  or  wounds  than 
the  frequent  shifting  of  physic  or  plasters.  Of  authors,  be 
sure  to  make  choice  of  the  best;  and  (as  I said  before)  to 
stick  close  to  them ; and  though  you  take  up  others  by  the 
by,  reserve  some  select  ones  however  for  your  study  and 
retreat.  In  your  reading,  you  will  every  day  meet  with 
some  consolation  and  support  against  poverty,  death,  and 
other  calamities  incident  to  human  life;  extract  what  you 
like,  and  then  single  out  some  particular  from  the  rest  for 
that  day’s  meditation.  Reading  does  not  only  feed  and  en- 
,.ertain  the  understanding,  hut  when  a man  is  dosed  with 
one  study,  he  relieves  himself  with  another ; but  still  read- 
ing and  writing  are  to  be  taken  up  by  turns.  So  long  as 
the  meat  lies  whole  upon  the  stomach,  it  is  a burden  to  us ; 
but,  upon  the  concoction,  it  passes  into  strength  and  blood. 
And  so  it  fares  with  our  studies;  so  longas  they  lie  whole, 
they  pass  into  the  memory  without  affecting  the  under- 
standing: but,  upon  meditation,  they  become  our  own,  and 
supply  us  with  strength  and  virtue ; the  bee  that  wanders 
and  sips  from  every  flower,  disposes  what  she  has  gathered 
into  her  cells. 


EPISTLE  III. 

Against  all  sorts  of  affectation  in  discourse.  Fantastical 
studies,  hnjterlinent  and  unprofitable  subtleties.  Man’s 
business  is  virtue,  not  words. 

There  are  many  men  (and  some  of  great  sense  too,)  that 
lose  both  the  profit  and  the  reputation  of  good  thoughts  by 
the  uncouth  manners  of  expressing  them.  They  love  to  talk 
in  mystery,  and  take  it  for  a mark  of  wisdom  not  to  be  un- 
acrstood.  They  are  so  fond  of  making  themselves  public, 


EPISTLES. 


267 


that  they  will  rather  be  ridiculous  than  not  taken  notice  of 
When  the  mind  grows  squeamish,  and  comes  to  a lothing 
of  things  that  are  common,  as  if  they  were  sordid,  that 
sickness  betrays  itself  in  our  way  of  speaking  too;  for  we 
must  have  new  words,  new  compositions : and  it  passes  for 
an  ornament  to  borrow  from  other  tongues  where  we  may 
be  better  furnished  in  our  own.  One  man  prizes  himself 
upon  being  concise,  and  talking  in  parables;  another  runs 
liimself  out  in  words,  and  that  which  he  takes  only  for 
copious,  renders  him  to  others  both  ridiculous  and  tedious. 
Others  there  are  that  like  the  error  well  enough,  but  cannot 
come  up  to  it.  But  take  this  for  a rule;  “Wheresoever  the 
speech  is  corrupted,  so  is  the  mind.”  Some  are  only  for 
words  antiquated,  and  long  since  out  of  date  ; others  only 
for  that  which  is  popular  and  coarse;  and  they  are  both  in 
the  wrong:  for  the  one  takes  too  little  care,  and  the  other 
too  much.  Some  are  for  a rough,  broken  style,  as  if  it 
were  a thing  unmanly  to  please  the  ear ; others  are  too 
nice  upon  the  matter  of  number,  and  make  it  rather  singing 
than  speaking.  Some  affect  not  to  be  understood  till  the 
end  of  the  period,  and  hardly  then  neither.  It  is  not  a good 
style  that  is  either  too  bold  or  too  the  one  wants 

modesty,  and  the  other  effect.  Some  are  too  starched  and 
formal;  others  take  a pride  in  being  and  if  they 

chance  to  let  fall  any  thing  that  is  smooth,  they  will  trans- 
pose and  mangle  it  on  purpose,  only  to  maim  the  period,  and 
disappoint  a body’s  expectation.  These  errors  are  commonly 
introduced  by  some  person  that  is  famous  for  his  eloquence : 
others  follow  him,  and  so  it  passes  into  a fashion : and  we 
are  as  much  out  in  the  choice  of  the  matter  as  in  that  of 
our  words. 

There  are  some  studies  which  are  only  matter  of  curi- 
osity and  trial  of  skill,  others  of  pleasure  and  of  use:  but 
still  there  are  many  things  worth  the  knowing,  perhaps, 
that  were  not  worth  the  learning.  It  is  a huge  deal  of  time 
that  is  spent  in  cavilling  about  words  and  captious  disputa- 
tions, that  work  us  up  to  the  edge,  and  then  nothing  comes 
on  it.  There  are  some  tricks  of  wit,  like  sleight  of  hand, 
which  amount  to  no  more  than  the  tying  of  knots  only  to 
loosen  them  again ; and  it  is  the  very  fallacy  that  pleases  us 
for  so  soon  as  ever  we  know  how  they  are  done,  the  satis- 
faction is  at  an  end.  He  that  does  not  understand  these 
sophisms  is  never  the  worse,  and  he  that  does  is  never  the 
better.  If  a man  te.l  me  that  I have  horns,  I can  tell  him 


263 


EPISTLES. 


a^ain  that  I have  none,  without  feeling  of  my  forehead. 
Bion’s  dilemma  makes  all  men  to  be  sacrilegious ; and  yet  at 
the  same  time  maintains  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  sacri- 
lege. “ He  that  takes  to  himself,”  says  he,  “ what  belongs 
to  God,  commits  sacrilege : but  all  things  belong  to  God, 
therefore  he  that  applies  any  thing  to  his  own  use  is  sacri- 
legious.” On  the  other  side,  the  very  rifling  of  a temple 
he  makes  to  be  no  sacrilege : “ For  it  is,”  says  he,  “ but  the 
taking  of  something  out  of  one  place  that  belongs  to  God, 
and  removing  of  it  to  another  that  belongs  to  him  too.” 
7'he  fallacy  lies  in  this,  that  though  all  things  belong  to  him, 
all  things  are  not  yet  dedicated  to  him.  There  is  no  greater 
enemy  of  truth  than  over-much  subtlety  of  speculation. 
Protagoras  will  have  every  thing  disputable,  and  as  much 
to  be  said  for  the  one  side  as  for  the  other ; nay,  ,»e  makes 
it  another  question,  “ Whether  every  thing  be  disputable  or 
not?”  There  are  others  that  make  it  a science  to  prove  that 
a man  knows  nothing ; but  the  former  is  the  more  tolerable 
error : for  the  other  takes  away  the  very  hope  of  know- 
edge  ; and  it  is  better  to  know  that  which  is  superfluous 
than  nothing  at  all.  And  yet  it  is  a kind  of  intemperance 
to  desire  to  know  more  than  enough ; for  it  makes  men 
troublesome,  talkative,  impertinent,  conceited,  &c.  There  is 
a certain  hankering  after  learning;  which,  if  it  be  not  put 
into  a right  way,  hinders  and  falls  foul  upon  itself.  Where- 
fore the  burden  must  be  fitted  to  the  shoulders,  and  no  more 
than  we  are  able  to  bear.  It  is,  in  a great  measure,  the 
fault  of  our  tutors  that  teach  their  disciples  rather  how  to 
dispute  than  how  to  live  ; and  the  learner  himself  is  also 
to  blame  for  applying  himself  to  the  improvement  rather  of 
his  wit  than  of  his  mind : by  which  means  philosophy  is  row 
turned  to  philology.  But  a grammarian  to  a Virgil,  he 
never  needs  the  philosophy,  but  the  verse:  every  man  takes 
notes  for  his  own  study.  In  the  same  meadow  the  cow  finds 
grass,  the  dog  starts  a hare,  and  the  stork  snaps  a lizard, 
I'ully's  de  Republica  finds  work  both  for  the  philosopher, 
tlie  philologer,  and  the  grammarian.  The  philosopher 
wonders  how  it  was  possible  to  speak  so  much  against 
justice.  The  philologer  makes  this  observation,  that  Rome 
had  two  kings;  the  one  without  a father,  and  the  other 
without  a mother ; for  it  is  a question  who  was  Servius  his 
mother ; and  of  Ancus  his  father  there  is  not  so  much  as 
any  mention.  The  grammarian  takes  notice,  that  reapse  is 
used  for  rei^sa ; and  sepse  iov  seipse ; and  so  every  man 


EPISTLES. 


260 


makes  his  notes  for  his  own  purpose.  These  fooleries  apart, 
fet  us  learn  to  do  good  to  mankind,  and  to  put  our  know- 
ledge into  action.  Our  danger  is  the  being  mistaken  in 
things,  not  in  words,  and  in  the  confounding  of  good  and 
evil : so  that  our  whole  life  is  but  one  continued  error,  and 
we  live  in  dependency  upon  to-morrow.  There  are  a world 
of  things  to  be  studied  and  learned,  and  therefore  we  should 
discharge  the  mind  of  things  unnecessary  to  make  way  for 
greater  matters.  The  business  of  the  schools  is  rather  a play 
than  study,  and  only  to  be  when  we  can  do  nothing  else. 
There  are  many  people  that  frequent  them  only  to  hear, 
and  not  to  learn  : and  they  take  notes  too,  not  to  reform 
their  manners,  but  to  pick  up  words;  which  they  vent  with 
as  little  benefit  to  others  as  they  heard  them  to  themselves. 
It  costs  US  a great  deal  of  time,  and  other  men’s  ears  a 
great  deal  of  trouble,  to  purchase  the  character  of  a learned 
man,  wherefore  I shall  even  content  inyself  with  the  coarser 
title  of  an  honest  man.  The  worst  of  it  is,  that  there  is  a 
vain  and  idle  pleasure  in  it,  which  tempts  us  to  squander 
away  many  a precious  hour  to  very  little  purpose.  We 
spend  ourselves  upon  subtleties,  which  may  perchance  make 
us  to  be  thought  learned,  but  not  good.  Wisdom  dcdghts 
in  openness  and  simplicity ; in  the  forming  of  oui  lives 
rather  than  in  the  niceties  of  the  schools,  which,  at  hast,  do 
but  bring  us  pleasure  without  profit.  And  in  short,  the 
things  which  the  philosophers  impose  upon  us  with  so  much 
pride  and  vanity  are  little  more  than  the  same  lessons  over 
again  which  they  learned  at  school.  But  some  others  have 
their  names  up,  though  their  discourses  be  mean  enough; 
they  dispute  and  wrangle,  but  they  do  not  edify  any  farther 
than  as  they  keep  us  from  ill-doing,  or  perhaps  stop  us  in  our 
speed  to  wickedness..  And  there  ought  to  be  a difference 
betwixt  the  applauses  of  the  schools  and  of  the  theatre ; the 
one  being  moved  with  every  popular  conceit,  which  does  not 
at  all  consist  with  the  dignity  of  the  other.  Wliercas  there 
are  some  writings  that  stir  up  some  generous  resolutions, 
and  do,  as  it  were,  inspire  a man  with  a new  soul.  They 
display  the  blessings  of  a happy  life,  and  possess  me  at  the 
same  time  with  admiration  and  with  hope.  They  give  me  a 
veneration  for  the  oracles  of  antiquity,  ana  a claim  to  them 
as  to  a common  inheritance ; for  they  are  the  treasure  of 
mankind,  and  it  must  be  my  duty  to  improve  the  stock,  and 
transmit  it  to  posterity.  And  yet  I do  not  love  to  hear  a man 
cite  Zeno,  Cleanthes,  Epicurus,  without  something  of  his 
X2 


■^70 


EPISTLES. 


own  too.  What  do  I care  for  the  bare  hearing  of  that  which 
[ may  read  1 Not  but  that  word  of  mouth  makes  a great 
impression,  especially  when  they  are  the  speaker’s  own 
words;  but  he  that  only  recites  another  man’s  words  is  no 
more  to  me  than  a notary.  Beside  that,  there  is  an  end  of 
invention,  if  we  rest  upon  what  is  invented  already ; and  he 
that  only  follows  another,  is  so  far  from  finding  out  any  thing 
new,  that  he  does  not  so  much  as  look  for  it.  I do  not  pre- 
tend all  this  while  to  be  the  master  of  truth,  but  I am  yet 
a most  obstinate  inquisitor  after  it.  I am  no  man’s  slave ; but 
as  I ascribe  much  to  great  men,  I challenge  something  to 
myself.  Our  forefathers  have  left  us  not  only  their  invention, 
but  matter  also  for  farther  inquiry,  and  perhaps  they  might 
have  found  out  more  things  that  are  necessary,  if  they  had 
not  bent  their  thoughts  too  much  upon  superfluities. 

Is  not  this  a fine  time  for  us  to  be  fiddling  and  fooling 
about  words'!  How  many  useful  and  necessary  things  are 
there,  that  we  are  first  to  learn,  and,  secondly,  to  imprint  in 
our  minds'!  For  it  is  not  enough  to  remember  and  to  under- 
stand, unless  we  do  what  we  know. 


EPISTLE  IV. 

Business,  and  want  of  news,  are  no  excuse  among  friends 
for  not  writing.  Wise  men  arc  the  better  for  one  another. 
How  far  wisdom  may  be  advanced  by  precept. 

Your  last  letter  was  very  short ; and  the  whole  letter 
itself  was  little  more  than  an  excuse  for  the  shortness  of  it. 
One  while  you  are  so  full  of  6Msine.ss.that  you  cannot  write 
at  all ; and  another  while  you  have  so  little  news  that  you 
do  not  know  what  to  write.  Now,  assure  youself,  that  who- 
soever has  a mind  to  write  may  find  leisure  for  it;  and  for 
your  other  pretence,  it  looks  as  if  we  ourselves  were  the 
least  part  of  our  own  business.  Put  the  case,  that  the  whole 
world  were  becalmed,  and  that  there  were  neither  wars, 
amours,  factions,  designs,  disappointments,  competitors,  or 
law-suits;  no  prodigals,  usurers,  or  fornicators,  in  nature, 
there  would  be  a large  field  yet  left  for  the  offices  of  friend- 
ship, and  for  the  exercise  of  philosophy  and  virtue.  Let  us 
ratlier  consider  what  we  ourselves  ought  to  do  than  hearken 
after  the  doings  of  other  people.  What  signifies  the  story 


EPISTLES. 


271 


of  our  neighbor’s  errors  to  the  reforming  of  our  own  1 Is  it 
not  a more  glorious  and  profitable  employment  to  write  the 
history  of  Providence,  than  to  record  the  usurpation  of  am- 
bitious princes  ? and  rather  to  celebrate  the  bounties  of  the 
Almighty  than  the  robberies  of  Alexander!  Nor  is  business 
any  excuse  for  the  neglect  either  of  our  studies  or  of  our 
friends.  First,  we  continue  our  own  business,  and  then  we 
increase  it:  and  instead  of  lending,  we  do  wholly  give  our- 
selves up  to  it,  and  hunt  for  colored  pretences  of  misspend- 
ing our  time.  But  I say,  that  wherever  we  are,  or  with 
whomsoever  or  howsoever  employed,  we  have  our  thoughts 
at  liberty. 

You  have  here  drawn  a long  letter  from  me ; and  if  you 
find  it  tedious,  you  may  thank  yourself  for  calling  upon  me 
to  be  as  good  as  my  word.  Not  but  that  I write  by  inclina- 
tion too.  For  if  we  love  the  pictures  of  our  friends,  by  what 
hand  soever  they  be  drawn,  how  much  more  then  shall  we 
joy  in  a friend’s  letters,  which  are  undoubtedly  the  most 
lively  pictures  of  one  another!  It  is  a shame,  you  will  say, 
to  stand  in  need  of  any  remembrancers  of  an  absent  friend  ; 
and  yet  sometimes  the  place,  a servant,  a relation,  a house, 
a garment,  may  honestly  excite  the  memory;  and  it  renders 
every  thing  as  fresh  to  us  as  if  we  were  still  joined  in  our 
embraces,  and  drinking  up  one  another’s  tears.  It  is  by  the 
benefit  of  letters  that  absent  friends  are  in  a manner  brought 
together ; beside  that,  epistolary  discourses  are  much  more 
profitable  than  public  and  premeditated  declamations;  for 
they  insinuate  themselves  into  the  affections  with  more  free- 
dom and  effect,  though  with  less  pomp  and  pretence.  You 
do  expect,  perhaps,  that  I should  tell  you  how  gentle  and 
short  a winter  we  have  had  ; how  cold  and  unseasonable  a 
spring,  or  some  other* fooleries  to  as  little  purpose.  But 
what  are  you  and  I the  better  of  such  discourses!  We 
should  rather  be  laying  the  foundations  of  a good  mind  ; and 
learning  to  distinguish  betwixt  the  blessings  of  virtue  and 
the  amusements  'of  imagination.  There  came  in  some 
friends  to  me  yesterday,  that  made  the  chimney  smoke  a 
little  more  than  ordinary,  but  not  at  a rate  to  make  the 
neighborhood  cry  out  Jire.  We  had  a variety  of  discourse; 
and  passing  from  one  thing  to  another,  we  came  at  last  to 
read  something  of  Quintus  Saxtius;  (a  great  man,  upon 
my  credit,  deny  it  that  will.)  Good  God ! the  force  and 
vigor  of  that  man’s  writings ! And  how  much  are  they 
above  the  common  level  of^other  philosophers ! I cannot 


272 


EPISTLES. 


read  them,  methinks,  without  challenging  of  fortune,  and 
defying  all  the  powers  of  ambition  and  violence.  The  more 
I consider  him,  the  more  I admire  him ; for  I find  in  him  (as 
in  the  world  itself,)  every  day  to  be  a new  spectacle,  and  to 
afford  fresh  matter  still  for  more  veneration.  And  yet  the 
wisdom  of  our  forefathers  has  left  work  enough  for  their 
posterity ; even  if  there  were  no  more  in  it  than  the  appli- 
cation of  what  they  have  transmitted  to  us  of  their  own  in- 
vention. As  suppose  they  had  left  us  remedies  for  such  and 
such  diseases,  so  certain  that  we  should  not  need  to  look  for 
any  other  medicines,  there  would  be  some  skill  yet  re- 
quired in  the  applying  of  them  in  the  proper  case,  proportion, 
and  season.  1 have  an  honor  for  the  memorials  of  our  wor- 
t)iy  progenitors.  If  I meet  a consul  or  a prcetor  upon  the 
road,  I will  alight  from  my  horse,  uncover  my  head,  and  give 
him  the  way;  and  shall  I have  no  veneration  now  for  the 
names  of  the  governors  of  mankind  1 No  man  is  so  wise  as 
to  know  all  things;  or  if  he  did,  one  wise  man  may  yet  be 
helpful  to  another  in  finding  out  a nearer  way  to  the  finish- 
ing of  his  work : for  let  a man  make  never  so  much  haste, 
it  is  some  sort  of  assistance,  the  bare  encouraging  of  him  to 
continue  Ids  course ; beside  the  comforts  and  benefits  of 
communication  in  loving,  and  being  beloved,  and  in  the 
mutual  approbation  of  each  other. 

The  last  point,  you  know,  that  you  and  I had  in  debate 
was,  “Whether  or  not  wisdom  may  be  perfected  by  pre- 
cept.” There  are  some  that  account  only  that  part  of  phi- 
losophy to  be  profitable  to  mankind  which  delivers  itself  in 
particular  precepts  to  particular  persons,  without  forming  the 
whole  man : teaching  the  husband  (for  the  purpose)  how  to 
behave  himself  to  his  wife,  the  father  how  to  train  up  and 
discipline  his  children,  and  the  master  how  to  govern  his 
servants;  as  if  any  man  could  he  sufficiently  instructed  in 
the  parts  of  life  without  comprehending  the  whole  sum 
and  scope  of  it.  Others  (as  Aristo  the  Stoic)  are  rather  for 
the  general  degrees  of  philosophers ; which,  whosoever 
knows  in  the  main,  that  person  understands  in  every  par- 
ticular how  to  tutor  himself.  As  he  that  learns  to  cast  a 
dart,  when  he  has  by  practice  and  exercise  gotten  a true 
aim,  he  will  not  only  strike  this  or  that  mark,  but  whatever 
he  has  a mind  to:  so  he  that  is  well  informed  in  the  whole 
will  need  no  direction  in  the  parts,  but  under  the  principles 
of  a good  life  learn  how  to  behave  himself  in  all  the  circum- 
stances of  it,  Cleanthes  allow^  the  pareenelic  oi  preceptive 


EPISTLES. 


ri-70 

philosophy  to  be  in  some  sort  profitable ; but  yet  very  short 
and  defective,  unless  as  it  flows  from  the  universal  under- 
standing of  the  heads  and  degrees  o^ philosophy.  Now,  the 
question  is.  Whether  this  alone  can  make  a good  man  1 and 
whether  it  be  superfluous  itself,  or  so  sufficient  as  to  make 
all  other  knowledge  appear  sol  They  that  will  have  it  su- 
perfluous, argue  thus : If  the  eyes  be  covered,  there  is  no 
seeing  without  removing  the  impediment;  and  in  that  con- 
dition, it  is  to  no  purpose  to  bid  a man  go  to  such  and  such 
a place,  or  to  reach  this  or  that  with  his  hand  : and  so  it 
fares  with  the  mind  ; so  long  as  that  continues  clouded  with 
ignorance  and  error,  it  is  idle  to  give  particular  precepts; 
as  if  you  should  teach  a poor  man  to  act  the  part  of  a rich, 
or  one  that  is  hungry  how  to  behave  himself  with  a full 
stomach ; while  the  one  is  necessitous,  and  the  other  half- 
starved,  they  are  neither  of  them  the  better  for  it.  And 
then,  shall  we  give  precepts  in  manifest  cases  or  in  doubt- 
ful ? The  former  need  none,  and  in  the  latter  we  shall  not 
be  believed.  Nor  is  it  enough  simply  to  advise,  unless  we 
also  give  reasons  for  it.  There  are  two  terrors  which  we 
are  liable  to  in  this  case ; either  the  wickedness  of  perverse 
opinions,  which  have  taken  possession  of  us;  or  at  least  a 
disposition  to  entertain  error  under  any  resemblance  of  truth. 
So  that  our  work  must  be,  either  to  cure  a sick  mind  that 
is  already  tainted,  or  to  prepossess  an  evil  inclination  before 
it  comes  to  an  ill  habit.  Now,  the  degrees  of  philosophy 
enable  us  in  both  these  cases : nor  is  it  possible,  by  particu- 
lars, to  obviate  all  particular  occasions.  One  man  marries 
a widow,  another  a maid : she  may  be  rich  or  poor,  barren 
or  fruitful,  young  or  ancient;  superior,  inferior,  or  equal. 
One  man  follows  public  business,  another  flies  it;  so  that 
the  same  advice  that  is  profitable  to  the  one  may  be  mis- 
chievous to  the  other.  Every  one’s  is  a particular  case,  and 
must  be  suited  with  a particular  counsel.  The  laws  of 
philosophy  are  brief,  and  extend  to  all ; but  the  variety  of 
the  other  is  incomprehensible,  and  can  never  make  that  gooa 
to  all  which  it  promises  to  a few.  The  precepts  of  wisdom 
lie  open,  but  the  degrees  of  it  are  hidden  in  the  dark. 

Now,  in  answer,  it  does  not  hold  with  the  mind  as  with 
the  eye : if  there  be  a suffusion,  it  is  to  be  helped  by  remedy 
and  not  by  precept.  The  eye  is  not  to  be  taught  to  distin- 
guish colors ; but  the  mind  must  be  informed  what  to  do  in 
life.  And  yet  the  physician  will  prescribe  order  also  to  me 
patient,  as  well  as  physic;  and  tell  him,  “You  must  bring 


274 


EPISTLES. 


your  eye  to  endure  the  light  hy  degrees;  have  a care  of  study- 
ing upon  a full  stomach,  &,c.  We  are  told,  that  precepts 
do  neither  extinguish  nor  abate  false  opinions  in  us  of  good 
or  evil ; and  it  shall  be  granted,  that  of  themselves  they  are 
not  able  to  subdue  vicious  inclinations;  but  this  does  not 
hinder  them  from  being  very  useful  to  us  in  conjunction 
with  other  helps.  First,  as  they  refresh  the  memory;  and, 
secondly,  as  they  bring  us  to  a more  distinct  view  of  the 
parts,  which  we  saw  but  confusedly  in  the  whole.  At  the 
same  rate,  consolatories  and  exhortations  will  be  found  su- 
perfluous as  well  as  precepts;  which  yet  upon  daily  expe- 
rience we  know  to  be  otherwise.  Nay,  we  are  the  better, 
not  only  for  the  precepts,  but  for  the  converse  of  philoso- 
phers ; for  we  still  carry  away  somewhat  of  the  tincture  of 
virtue,  whether  we  will  or  not;  but  the  deepest  impression 
they  make  is  upon  children.  It  is  urged,  that  precepts  are 
insufiicient  without  proof;  but  I say,  that  the  very  authority 
of  the  adviser  goes  a great  way  in  the  credit  of  the  advice  ; 
as  we  depend  upon  the  opinion  of  the  lawyer  without  de- 
manding his  reason  for  it.  And  again,  whereas  the  variety 
of  precepts  is  said  to  be  infinite,  I cannot  allow  it.  For  the 
greatest  and  most  necessary  affairs  are  not  many;  and  for 
the  application  to  time,  places,  and  persons,  the  differences 
are  so  small  that  a few  general  rules  will  serve  the  turn. 
Nay,  let  a man  be  never  so  right  in  his  opinion,  he  may  yet 
be  more  confirmed  in  it  by  admonition.  There  are  many 
tnings  that  may  assist  a cure,  though  they  do  not  perfect 
it ; even  madmen  themselves  may  be  kept  in  awe  by  menaces 
and  correction.  But  it  is  a hard  matter,  I must  confess,  to 
give  counsel  at  a distance  : for  advice  depends  much  upon 
the  opportunity;  and  that,  perhaps,  which  was  proper  when 
it  was  desired,  may  come  to  be  pernicious  before  it  be  re- 
ceived. Some,  indeed,  may  be  prescribed,  as  some  reme- 
dies, at  any  distance,  and  transmitted  to  posterity;  but  for 
others,  a man  must  be  upon  the  place  and  deliberate  upon 
rircumstances,  and  be  not  only  present,  but  watchful,  to 
-xrike  in  with  the  very  nick  of  the  occasion. 


EPISTLES. 


275 


EPISTLE  V. 

Seneca  gives  an  account  of  himself:  of  his  studies,  and 

of  his  inclinations:  loith  many  excellent  reflections  upon 

the  duties  and  the  errors  of  human  life. 

Your  letters  were  old  before  they  came  to  my  hand ; so 
that  I made  no  inquiry  of  the  messenger  what  you  were 
a-doing;  besides  that,  wherever  you  are,  I take  it  for  grant- 
ed that  I know  your  business,  and  that  you  are  still  upon 
the  great  work  of  perfecting  yourself:  a thing  not  to  be 
done  by  chance,  but  by  industry  and  labor.  We  are  all  of 
us  wicked  before  we  come  to  be  good.  We  are  prepossessed, 
so  that  we  must  unlearn  iniquity,  and  study  virtue.  The 
great  difficulty  is  to  begin  the  enterprise ; for  a weak  mind 
is  afraid  of  new  experiments.  I have  now  given  over 
troubling  myself  for  fear  of  you ; because  I have  that  se- 
curity for  your  well-doing  that  never  failed  any  man.  The 
.ove  of  truth  and  of  goodness  is  become  habitual  to  you.  It 
may  so  fall  out  that  Fortune  perhaps  may  do  you  an  injury ; 
but  there  is  no  fear  of  your  doing  yourself  one.  Go  on  as 
you  have  begun,  and  compose  your  resolutions ; not  to  an 
effeminate  ease,  but  to  a frame  of  virtuous  quiet.  It  is  a 
double  kindness  that  you  call  mb  to  so  strict  an  account  of 
my  time,  that  nothing  less  than  a diary  of  my  life  will 
satisfy  you;  for  I take  it  as  a mark  both  of  your  good  opin- 
ion and  of  your  friendship;  the  former,  in  believing  that  I 
do  nothing  which  I care  to  conceal ; and  the  other,  in  as- 
suring yourself  that  I will  make  you  the  confidant  of  all 
my  secrets.  I will  hereafter  set  a watch  upon  myself,  and 
Jo  as  you  would  have  me ; and  acquaint  you  not  only  with 
ihe  course  and  method,  but  with  the  very  business,  of  my 
life. 

This  day  I have  had  entire  to  myself,  without  any  knock- 
ing at  my  door,  or  lifting  up  of  the  hanging;  but  I have 
divided  it  betwixt  my  book  and  my  bed,  and  been  left  at 
liberty  to  do  my  own  business:  for  all  the  impiertinents  were 
either  at  the  theatre,  at  bowls,  or  at  the  horse-match.  l\Iy 
body  does  not  require  much  exercise,  and  I am  beholden  to 
my  age  for  it:  a little  makes  me  weary;  and  that  is  the 
end  also  of  that  which  is  most  robust.  My  dinner  is  a piece 
of  dry  bread,  without  a table,  and  without  fouling  my  fin- 
gers. My  sleeps  are  short,  and  in  truth  a little  doubtful 
betwixt  slumbering  and  waking.  One  while  I am  reflecting 


276 


EPISTLES. 


upon  the  errors  of  antiquity ; and  then  I apply  myselt  to 
die  correcting  of  my  own.  In  my  reading,  with  reverence 
to  the  ancients,  some  things  I take,  others  I alter;  and  some 
again,  I reject,  others  I invent;  without  enthralling  myself 
so  to  another’s  judgment  as  not  to  preserve  the  freedom  of 
my  own.  Sometimes,  of  a sudden,  in  the  middle  of  my 
meditations,  my  ears  are  struck  with  the  shout  of  a thou- 
sand people  together,  from  some  spectacle  or  other ; the 
noise  does  not  at  all  discompose  my  thought;  it  is  no  more 
to  me  than  the  dashing  of  waves,  or  the  wind  in  a wood; 
but  possibly  sometimes  it  may  divert  them.  “Good  Lord,” 
tliink  1,  “if  men  would  but  exercise  their  brains  as  they  do 
their  bodies;  and  take  as  much  pains  for  virtue  as  they  do 
for  pleasure !”  For  difficulties  strengthen  the  mind  as  well 
as  labor  does  the  body. 

You  tell  me  that  you  want  my  books  more  than  my  coun- 
sels ; which  I take  just  as  kindly  as  if  you  should  have 
asked  me  for  my  picture.  For  I have  the  very  same  opin- 
ion of  my  wit  that  I have  of  my  beauty.  You  shall  have 
both  the  one  and  the  other,  with  my  very  self  into  the  bar- 
gain. 

In  the  examination  of  my  own  heart,  I find  some  vices 
that  lie  open;  others  more  obscure  and  out  of  sight;  and 
some  that  take  me  only  by  fits.  Which  last  I look  upon  as 
the  most  dangerous  and  troublesome ; for  they  lie  upon  the 
catch,  and  keep  a man  upon  a perpetual  guard  : being  nei- 
ther provided  against  them,  as  in  a slate  of  war ; nor  se- 
cure, as  in  any  assurance  of  peace.  To  say  the  truth,  we 
are  all  of  us  as  cruel,  as  ambitious,  and  as  luxurious,  as  our 
fellows;  but  we  want  the  fortune,  or  the . occasion,  per- 
chance, to  show  it.  When  the  snake  is  frozen,  it  is  safe ; 
but  the  poison  is  still  in  it  though  it  be  numbed.  We  hate 
upstarts,  that  use  their  power  with  insolence ; when  yet,  if 
we  had  the  same  means,  it  is  odds  that  we  should  do  the 
same  thing  ourselves.  Only  our  corruptions  are  private  for 
want  of  opportunity  to  employ  them.  Some  things  we 
look  upon  as  superfluous,  and  others,  as  not  worth  the  while ; 
but  we  never  consider  that  we  pay  dearest  for  that  which 
we  pretend  to  receive  gratis;  as  anxiety,  loss  of  credit, 
liberty,  and  time.  So  cheap  is  every  man  in  effect  that 
pretends  to  be  most  dear  to  himself.  Some  are  dipt  in  their 
lusts  as  in  a river;  there  must  be  a hand  to  help  them  out : 
others  are  strangely  careless  of  good  counsel,  and  yet  well 
enough  disposed  to  follow  example.  Some  again  must  be 


EPISTLES. 


277 


forced  to  their  duties,  because  there  is  no  good  to  be  done 
upon  them  by  persuasion ; but  out  of  the  whole  race  of  man- 
kind, how  few  are  there  that  are  able  to  help  themselves  ! 
Being  thus  conscious  of  our  own  frailty,  we  should  do  well 
to  keep  ourselves  quiet,  and  not  to  trust  weak  minds  with 
wine,  beauty,  or  pleasure.  We  have  much  ado,  you  see,  to 
keep  our  feet  upon  dry  ground ; what  will  become  of  us  then 
if  we  venture  ourselves  where  it  is  slippery!  It  is  not  to  say, 
“ This  is  a hard  lesson,  and  we  cannot  go  through  with  it !” 
for  we  can,  if  we  would  endeavor  it ; but  we  cannot,  be- 
cause we  give  it  for  granted  that  we  cannot,  without  try- 
ing whether  we  can  or  not.  And  what  is  the  meaning  of 
all  this  but  that  we  are  pleased  with  our  vices,  and  willing 
to  be  mastered  by  them ! so  that  we  had  rather  excuse  than 
cast  them  off  The  true  reason  is,  we  will  not,  but  the  pre- 
tence is,  that  we  cannot ; and  we  are  not  only  under  a 
necessity  of  error,  but  the  very  love  of  it. 

To  give  you  now  a brief  of  my  own  character : I am  none 
of  those  that  take  delight  in  tumults,  and  in  struggling  with 
difficulties.  I had  rather  be  quiet  than  in  arms  ; for  1 account 
it  my  duty  to  bear  up  against  ill  fortune ; but  still  without 
choosing  it.  I am  no  friend  to  contention,  especially  to  tliat 
of  the  bar ; but  I am  very  much  a servant  to  all  honest  busi- 
ness that  may  be  done  in  a corner.  And  there  is  no  retreat 
so  unhappy  as  not  to  yield  entertainment  for  a great  mind ; 
by  which  a man  may  make  himself  profitable  both  to  his 
country  and  to  his  friends,  by  his  wisdom,  by  his  interest,  and 
by  his  counsel.  It  is  the  part  of  a good  patriot  to  prefer  men 
of  worth;  to  defend  the  innocent;  to  provide  good  laws; 
and  to  advise  in  war,  and  in  peace.  But  is  not  he  as  good  a 
patriot  that  instructs  youth  in  virtue;  that  furnishes  the 
world  with  precepts  of  morality,  and  keeps  human  nature 
within  the  bounds  of  right  reason  1 Who  is  the  greater 
man,  he  that  pronounces  a sentence  upon  the  bench,  or  he 
that  in  his  study  reads  us  a lecture  of  justice,  piety,  patience, 
fortitude,  the  knowledge  of  Heaven,  the  contempt  of  death, 
and  the  blessing  of  a good  conscience!  The  soldier  that 
guards  the  ammunition  and  the  baggage  is  as  necessary  as 
he  that  fights  the  battle.  Was  not  Cato  a greater  example 
than  either  Ulysses  or  Hercules!  They  had  the  fame,  you 
know,  of  being  indefatigable ; despisers  of  pleasure ; and 
great  conquerors,  both  of  their  enemies  and  of  their 
appetites.  But  Cato,  I must  confess,  had  no  encounters  with 
monsters : nor  did  he  fall  into  those  times  of  credulity,  when 


278 


EPISTLES. 


people  believed  that  the  weight  of  the  heavens  rested  upor 
one  man’s  shoulders ; but  he  grappled  with  ambition,  and 
the  unlimited  desire  of  power;  which  the  whole  world, 
divided  under  a triumvirale,  was  not  able  to  satisfy.  He 
opposed  himself  to  the  vices  of  a degenerate  city,  even  when 
it  was  now  sinking  under  its  own  weight.  He  stood  single, 
and  supported  the  falling  commonwealth,  until  at  last,  as  in- 
separable friends,  they  were  crushed  together;  for  neither 
would  Cato  survive  the  public  liberty,  nor  did  that  liberty 
outlive  Cato.  To  give  you  now  a farther  account  of  myself: 
1 am  naturally  a friend  to  all  the  rules  and  methods  of 
sobriety  and  moderation.  I like  the  old-fashioned  plate  that 
was  left  me  by  my  country-father : it  is  plain  and  heavy ; and 
yet,  for  all  this,  there  is  a kind  of  dazzling,  methinks,  in 
ostentations  of  splendor  and  luxury.  But  it  strikes  the  eye 
more  than  the  mind ; and  though  it  may  shake  a wise  man, 
it  cannot  alter  him.  Yet  it  sends  me  home  many  times  more 
sad,  perhaps,  than  I went  out ; but  yet,  I hope  not  worse ; 
though  not  without  some  secret  dissatisfaction  at  my  own 
condition.  Upon  these  thoughts  I betake  myself  to  my 
philosophy;  and  then,  methinks,  I am  not  well  unless  I put 
myself  into  some  public  employment:  not  for  the  honor  or 
the  profit  of  it,  but  only  to  place  myself  in  a station  where  I 
may  be  serviceable  to  my  country  and  to  my  friends.  But 
when  I come,  on  the  other  side,  to  consider  the  uneasiness, 
the  abuses,  and  the  loss  of  time,  that  attend  public  affairs, 
1 get  me  home  again  as  fast  as  I can,  and  take  up  a resolu 
tion  of  spending  the  remainder  of  my  days  within  the  pri- 
vacy of  my  own  walls.  How  great  a madness  is  it- to  set 
our  hearts  upon  trifles;  especially  to  the  neglect  of  the  most 
serious  offices  of  our  lives,  and  the  most  important  end  of 
our  being ! How  miserable,  as  well  as  short,  is  their  life, 
that  compass  with  great  labor  what  they  possess  with  great- 
er ; and  hold  with  anxiety  what  they  acquire  with  trouble ! 
But  we  are  governed  in  all  things  by  opinion,  and  every 
thing  is  to  us  as  we  believe  it.  What  is  poverty  but  a pri- 
vative; and  not  intended  of  what  a man  has,  but  of  that 
which  he  has  not?  The  great  subject  of  human  calamities 
is.  money.  Take  all  the  rest  together,  as  death,  sickness, 
fear,  desire,  pain,  labor;  and  those  which  proceed  from 
money  exceed  them  all.  It  is  a wonderful  folly,  that  of 
tumblers,  rope-dancers,  divers;  what  pains  they  take,  and 
what  hazards  they  run,  for  an  inconsiderable  gain  ! And 
vet  we  have  not  patience  for  the  thousandth  part  of  that 


EPISTLES. 


279 


trouble,  though  it  would  put  us  into  the  possession  of  an 
everlasting  quiet.  Epicurus  for  experiment  sake,  confined 
himself  to  a narrower  allowance  than  that  of  the  severest 
prisons  to  the  most  capital  offenders : and  found  himself  at 
ease  too  in  a stricter  diet  than  a man  in  the  worst  condition 
needs  to  fear.  This  was  to  prevent  Fortune,  and  to  frus- 
trate the  worst  which  she  can  do.  We  should  never  know 
any  thing  to  be  superfluous,  but  by  the  want  of  it.  How 
many  things  do  we  provide  only  because  others  have  them, 
and  for  fashion-sake ! Caligula  offered  Demetrius  5000 
crowns ; who  rejected  them  with  a smile,  as  who  should 
say,  “ It  was  so  little  it  did  him  no  honor  the  refusing  of  it. 
Nothing  less,”  says  he,  “ than  the  offer  of  his  whole  empire 
would  have  been  a temptation  to  have  tried  the  firmness  of 
my  virtue.”  By  this  contempt  of  riches  is  intended  only  the 
fearless  possession  of  them ; and  the  way  to  attain  that  is  to 
persuade  ourselves  that  we  may  live  happily  without  them. 
How  many  of  those  things,  which  reason  formerly  told  us 
were  superfluous  and  mimical,  do  we  now  find  to  be  so  by 
experience ! But  we  are  misled  by  the  counterfeit  of  good 
on  the  one  hand,  and  the  suspicion  of  evil  on  the  other.  Not 
that  riches  are  an  efficient  cause  of  mischief;  but  they  are 
a precedent  cause,  by  way  of  irritation  and  attraction : for 
they  have  so  near  a resemblance  of  good,  that  most  people 
take  them  to  be  good.  Nay,  virtue  itself  is  also  a precedent 
cause  of  evil;  as  many  are  envied  for  their  wisdom,  or  for 
their  justice;  which  does  not  arise  from  the  thing  itself,  but 
from  the  irreprovable  power  of  virtue,  that  forces  all  men 
to  admire  and  to  love  it.  That  is  not  good  that  is  more 
advantageous  to  us,  but  that  which  is  only  so. 


EPISTLE  VI. 

The  blessings  of  a virtuous  retirement.  How  we  come  to 
the  knowledge  of  virtue.  A distinction  betwixt  good  and 
honest.  A wise  man  contents  himself  ivith  his  lot. 

There  is  no  opportunity  escapes  me  of  inquiring  where 
you  are,  what  you  do,  and  what  company  you  keep:  and  1 
am  well  enough  pleased  that  I can  hear  nothing  concerning 
you  : for  ifshows  that  you  live  retired.  Not  but  that  I durst 
trust  you  with  the  wide  world  too;  but,  however,  it  is  net 


280 


EPISTLES. 


easy  such  a general  conversation,  nor  is  it  absolutely  falsi; 
neither ; for  though  it  should  not  corrupt  you,  it  would  yet 
hinder  you.  Now,  wheresoever  you  are,  know,  that  I am 
with  you,  and  you  are  so  to  live  as  if  I both  heard  and  saw 
you.  Your  letters  are  really  blessings  to  me,  and  the  sense 
of  your  improvements  relieves  me,  even  under  the  considera- 
tion of  my  own  decay.  Remember,  that  as  I am  old,  so  are 
you  mortal.  Be  true  to  yourself,  and  examine  yourself 
whether  you  be  of  the  same  mind  to-day  that  you  were 
yesterday  ; for  that  is  a sign  of  perfect  wisdom.  And  yet 
give  me  leave  to  tell  you,  that  though  change  of  mind  be  a 
token  of  imperfection,  it  is  the  business  of  my  age  to  un  will 
one  day  that  which  I willed  another.  And  let  me  recom- 
mend it  to  your  practice  too,  in  many  cases ; for  the  abate- 
ment of  our  appetites  and  of  our  errors  is  the  best  entertain- 
ment of  mankind.  It  is  for  young  men  to  gather  knowledge, 
and  for  old  men  to  use  it:  and  assure  yourself  that  no 
man  gives  a fairer  account  of  his  time  than  he  that  makes 
it  his  daily  study  to  make  himself  better.  If  you  be  in  health, 
and  think  it  worth  your  while  to  become  the  master  of  your- 
self, it  is  my  desire  and  my  advice,  that  you  apply  yourself 
to  wisdom  with  your  whole  heart,  and  judge  of  your  im- 
provement, not  by  what  you  speak,  or  by  what  you  write, 
but  by  the  firmness  of  your  mind,  and  the  government  of 
your  passions.  What  extremities  have  some  men  endured 
in  sieges,  even  for  the  ambition  and  interest  of  other  people  ! 
And  shall  not  a man  venture  the  crossing  of  an  intemperate 
lust  for  the  conquest  of  himself!  You  do  very  well  to  betake 
yourself  to  a private  life:  and  better  yet,  in  keeping  of  that 
pri  vacy  private : for,  otherwise  your  retreat  would  look 
like  ostentation.  The  greatest  actions  of  our  lives  are  those 
that  we  do  in  a recess  from  business : beside  that  there  are 
some  governments  and  employments  that  a man  would  not 
have  any  thing  to  do  withal.  And  then  it  is  to  be  considered 
that  public  offices  and  commissions  are  commonly  bought 
with  our  money;  whereas  the  great  blessings  of  leisure  and 
privacy  cost  us  nothing.  Contemplation  is  undoubtedly  the 
best  entertainment  of  peace;  and  only  a shorter  cut  to 
Heaven  itself : over  and  above  that,  business  makes  us  trou- 
blesome to  others,  and  unquiet  to  ourselves : for  the  end  of 
one  appetite  or  design  is  the  beginning  of  another ; to  say 
nothing  of  the  expense  of  time  in  vexatious  attendances,  and 
the  danger  of  competitors.  Such  a man,  perhaps,  has  more 
friends  at  Court  than  I have ; a larger  train,  a fairer  estate, 


EPISTLES. 


281 


more  profitable  ofiices,  and  more  illustrious  titles : but  what 
do  I care  to  be  overcome  by  men  in  some  cases,  so  long  as 
Fortune  is  overcome  by  me  in  all  ! These  considerations 
should  have  been  earlier;  for  it  is  too  late  in  the  article  of 
death  to  project  the  happiness  of  life.  And  yet  there  is  no 
age  better  adapted  to  virtue  than  that  which  comes  by  many 
experiments,  and  long  sufferings,  to  the  knowledge  of  it: 
for  our  lusts  are  then  weak,  and  our  judgment  strong;  and 
wisdom  is  the  effect  of  time. 

Some  are  of  opinion  that  we  come  to  the  knowledge  of 
virtue  by  chance,  (which  were  an  indignity ;)  others,  by  ob- 
servation, and  comparing  matters  of  fact  one  with  another ; 
the  understanding,  by  a kind  of  analogy,  approving  this  or 
that  for  good  and  honest.  These  are  two  points,  which 
others  make  wholly  different,  but  the  Stoics  only  divide 
them.  Some  will  have  every  thing  to  be  good  that  is  bene- 
ficial to  us;  as  money,  wine,  and  so  lower,  to  the  meanest 
things  we  use.  And  they  reckon  that  to  be  honest  where 
there  is  a reasonable  discharge  of  a common  duty;  as  rev- 
erence to  a parent,  tenderness  to  a friend,  the  exposing  of 
ourselves  for  our  country,  and  the  regulating  of  our  lives 
according  to  moderation  and  prudence.  The  Stoics  reckon 
them  to  be  two : but  so  as  to  make  those  two,  yet  out  of  one. 
They  will  have  nothing  to  be  good  but  what  is  honest,  nor 
any  thing  to  be  honest,  but  that  which  is  good ; so  that  in 
some  sort  they  are  mixed  and  inseparable.  There  are  some 
things  that  are  neither  good  nor  bad  ; as  w'ar,  embassy,  ju- 
risdiction ; but  these,  in  the  laudable  administration  of  them, 
do,  of  doubtful,  become  good,  which  good  is  only  a conse- 
quent upon  honesty  ; but  honesty  is  good  in  itself,  and  the 
other  flows  from  it.  There  are  some  actions  that  seem  to 
us  matter  of  benignity,  humanity,  generosity,  resolution ; 
which  we  are  apt  to  admire  as  perfect:  and  yet,  upon  fur- 
ther examination,  we  find  that  great  vices  were  concealed 
under  the  resemblances  of  eminent  virtues.  Glorious  ac- 
tions are  the  images  of  virtue,  but  yet  many  things  seem  to 
be  good  that  are  evil,  and  evil  that  are  good : and  the  skill 
is,  to  distinguish  betwixt  things  that  are  so  much  alike  in 
show  and  so  disagreeing  in  effect.  We  are  led  to  the  un- 
derstanding of  virtue  by  the  congruity  we  find  in  such  and 
such  actions  to  nature  and  right  reason  ; by  the  order,  grace, 
and  constancy  of  them,  and  by  a certain  majesty  and  great- 
ness that  surpass  all  other  things.  From  hence  proceeds  a 
lianpy  life,  to  which  nothing  comes  amiss ; but,  en  the  con 
Y2 


282 


EPISTLES. 


trary  every  thing  succeeds  to  our  very  wish.  There  is  no 
wrangling  with  fortune : no  being  out  of  humor  for  acci- 
dents ; whatsoever  befalls  me  in  my  lot,  and  whether  in  ap- 
pearance it  be  good  or  bad,  it  is  God’s  pleasure ; and  it  is 
my  duty  to  bear  it.  When  a man  has  once  gotten  a habit 
of  virtue,  all  his  actions  are  equal : he  is  constantly  one  and 
tlie  same  man;  and  he  does  well,  not  only  upon  counsel, 
but  out  of  custom  too.  Shall  1 tell  you  now,  in  a word,  the 
sum  of  human  duty]  Patience,  where  we  are  to  suffer; 
and  prudence  in  things  we  do.  It  is  a frequent  complaint 
in  the  world,  that  the  things  we  enjoy  are  but  few,  transitory, 
and  uncertain  ; so  ungrateful  a construction  do  we  make 
of  the  divine  bounty.  Hence  it  is,  that  we  are  neither  willing 
to  die,  nor  contented  to  live,  betwixt  the  fear  of  the  one  and 
the  detestation  of  tlie  other:  hence  it  is  that  we  are  per- 
petually shifting  of  counsels,  and  still  craving  of  more; 
because  that  which  we  call  felicity  is  not  able  to  fill  us. 
And  what  is  the  reason,  but  that  we  are  not  yet  come  to 
that  immense  and  insuperable  good  which  leaves  us  nothing 
further  to  desire]  In  that  blessed  estate  we  feel  no  want; 
we  are  abundantly  pleased  with  what  we  have ; and  what 
fie  have  not,  we  do  not  regard:  so  that  every  thing  is  great 
lecause  it  is  sufficient.  If  we  quit  this  hold,  there  will  be 
10  place  for  the  offices  of  faith  and  piety  ; in  the  discharge 
whereof  we  must  both  suffer  many  things  that  the  world 
calls  evil,  and  part  with  many  things  which  are  commonly 
accounted  good.  True  joy  is  everlasting,  pleasures  are 
false  and  fugitive.  It  is  a great  encouragement  to  well- 
doing, that  when  we  are  once  in  the  possession  of  virtue,  it 
is  our  own  for  ever.  While  I speak  this  to  you,  I prescribe 
to  myself:  what  I write  I read  ; and  reduce  all  my  medita- 
tions to  the  ordering  of  my  own  manners.  There  is  no- 
thing so  mean  and  ordinary  but  it  is  illustrated  by  virtue ; 
and  externals  are  of  no  more  use  to  it  than  the  light  of  a 
candle  to  the  glory  of  the  sun. 

It  is  often  objected  to  me,  that  I advise  people  to  quit  the 
world,  to  retire,  and  content  themselves  with  a good  con- 
science. But  what  becomes  of  your  precepts  then,  (say 
they,)  that  enjoin  us  to  die  in  action  1 To  whom  I must  an- 
swer, “ That  I am  never  more  in  action  than  when  I am 
alone  in  my  study : where  I have  only  locked  up  myself  in 
urivate  to  attend  the  business  of  the  public.  I do  not  lose 
so  much  as  one  day ; nay,  and  part  of  the  night  too  to  bor- 
row for  my  book.  When  my  eyes  will  serve  me  no  longer. 


EPISTLES. 


283 


[ fall  asleep,  and  until  then  I work.  I have  retired  myself, 
not  only  from  men,  but  from  business  also  ; and  my  own,  in 
the  first  place,  to  attend  the  service  of  posterity ; in  hope, 
that  what  I now  write  may,  in  some  measure,  be  profitable 
to  future  generations.” 

But  it  is  no  new  thing,  I know,  to  calumniate  virtue  and 
good  men  :•  for  sick  eyes  will  not  endure  the  light;  but,  like 
birds  of  night,  they  fly  from  it  into  their  holes.  Why  does 
such  a man  talk  so  much  of  his  philosophy,  and  yet  live  in 
magnificence!  of  contemning  riches,  life,  health;  and  yet 
cherish  and  maintain  them  with  the  greatest  care  imagin- 
able ] Banishment,  he  says,  is  but  an  idle  name ; and  yet 
he  can  grow  old  within  his  own  walls.  He  puts  no  differ- 
ence betwixt  a long  life  and  a short,  and  yet  he  spins  out 
his  own  as  far  as  it  will  go.  The  thing  is  this,  he  does  not 
contemn  temporary  blessings  so  as  to  refuse  or  drive  them 
away  ; but  if  they  come  they  are  welcome;  if  not,  he  will 
never  break  his  heart  for  the  want  of  them ; he  takes  them- 
into  his  house,  not  into  his  soul ; and  he  makes  use  of  them 
only  as  matter  for  his  virtue  to  work  upon.  There  is  no 
doubt  but  a wise  man  may  show  himself  better  in  riches 
than  in  poverty ; that  is  to  say,  his  temperance,  his  liberality, 
his  magnificence,  providence,  and  prudence,  will  be  more 
conspicuous.  He  will  be  a wise  man  still  if  he  should  want 
a leg  or  an  arm ; but  yet  he  had  rather  be  perfect.  He  is 
pleased  with  wealth,  as  he  would  be  at  sea  with  a fair  wind, 
or  with  a glance  of  the  warm  sun  in  a frosty  morning;  so 
that  the  things  which  we  call  indifferent  are  not  yet  with- 
out their  value;  and  some  greater  than  others;  but  with 
this  difference,  betwixt  the  philosophers  and  the  common 
people,  riches  are  the  servants  of  the  one  and  the  masters 
of  the  other.  From  the  one,  if  they  depart,  they  carry  away 
nothing  but  themselves  ; but  from  the  other,  they  take  away 
the  very  heart  and  peace  of  the  possessor  along  with  them. 
It  is  true,  that  if  I might  have  my  choice,  I would  have 
health  and  strength ; and  yet  if  I come  to  be  visited  with 
pain  or  sickness,  I will  endeavor  to  improve  them  to  my  ad- 
vantage, by  making  a righteous  judgment  of  them,  as  I 
ought  to  do  of  all  the  appointments  of  Providence.  So  that, 
as  they  are  not  good  in  themselves,  neither  are  they  evil, 
but  matter  of  exercise  for  our  virtues ; of  temperance  on  the 
one  hand,  and  of  resignation  on  the  othei 


284 


EPISTLES 


EPISTLE  VII. 

Of  impertinent  studies,  and  impertinent  men.  Philoso- 
phers the  best  companions. 

He  that  duly  considers  the  business  of  life  and  death,  will 
find  that  he  has  little  time  to  spare  from  that  study ; and  yet 
how  we  trifle  away  our  hours  upon  impertinent  niceties  and 
cavils!  Will  Plato’s  imaginary  ideas  make  me  an  honest 
man  ! There  is  neither  certainty  in  them,  nor  substance. 
“ A mouse  is  a syllable;  but  a syllable  does  not  eat  cheese: 
therefore  a mouse  does  not  eat  cheese.”  Oh ! these  child- 
ish follies!  Is  it  for  these  that  we  spend  our  blood  and  our 
good-humor,  and  grow  gray  in  our  closets]  We  are  a-jest- 
ing  when  we  should  be  helping  the  miserable ; as  well  our- 
selves as  others.  There  is  no  sporting  with  men  in  distress. 
The  felicity  of  mankind  depends  upon  the  counsel  of  philo- 
sophers. Let  us  rather  consider  what  nature  has  made  su- 
perfluous and  what  necessary ; how  easy  our  conditions  are, 
and  how  delicious  that  life  which  is  governed  by  reason 
rather  than  opinion.  There  are  impertinent  studies  as  well 
as  impertinent  men.  Didymus  the  grammarian  WTOte  4000 
books ; wherein  he  is  much  concerned  to  discover  where 
Homer  was  born ; who  was  A2neas’s  true  mother ; and 
whether  Anacreon  was  the  greater  whoremaster  or  drunk- 
rd ; with  other  fopperies,  that  a man  w'ould  labor  to  forget 
^ he  knew  them.  It  is  not  an  important  question  which  of 
he  two  was  first,  the  mallet  or  the  tongs]  Some  people  are 
e.xtremely  inquisitive  to  know  how  many  oars  Ulysses  had; 
which  was  first  written,  the  Iliads  or  the  Odysses;  or  if 
they  were  both  done  by  the  same  hand.  A man  is  never 
a jot  the  more  learned  for  this  curiosity,  but  much  the  more 
troublesome.  Am  I ever  the  more  just,  the  more  moderate, 
valiant,  or  liberal,  for  knowing  that  Curius  Dentatus  was 
the  first  that  carried  elephants  in  triumph]  Teach  me 
my  duty  to  Providence,  to  my  neighbor,  and  to  myself:  to 
dispute  with  Socrates;  to  doubt  with  Carneades;  to  set  up 
my  rest  with  Epicurus ; to  master  my  appetites  with  the 
Stoics;  and  to  renounce  the  world  with  the  Cynic.  What 
a deal  of  business  there  is,  first,  to  make  Homer  a pliiloso- 
pher ; and,  secondly,  in  what  classes  to  range  him!  One 
will  have  him  be  a Stoic,  a friend  to  virtue,  and  an  enemy 
to  pleasure;  preferring  honesty  even  to  immortality  itself: 


EPISTLES. 


285 


another  makes  him  an  Epicurean ; one  that  loves  his  quiet, 
and  to  spend  his  time  in  good  company : some  are  positive 
in  it  tha.t  he  v/txs  a.  Peripatetic ; and  others,  that  he  was 
a Sceptic.  But  it  is  clear,  that  in  being  all  these  things,  he 
was  not  any  one  of  them.  These  divided  opinions  do  not  at 
all  hinder  us  from  agreeing,  upon  the  main,  that  he  was  a 
wise  man.  Let  us  therefore  apply  ourselves  to  those  things 
that  made  him  so,  and  even  let  the  rest  alone. 

It  was  a pleasant  humor  of  Calvicius  Sabinus,  a rich  man, 
and  one  that  managed  a very  good  fortune  with  a very  ill 
grace.  He  had  neither  wit  nor  memory,  but  would  fain  pass 
tor  a learned  man,  and  so  took  several  into  his  family ; and 
whatsoever  they  knew  he  assumed  to  himself.  There  are  a 
sort  of  people  that  are  never  well  but  at  theatres,  spectacles, 
and  public  places;  men  of  business,  but  it  is  only  in  their 
faces:  for  they  wander  up  and  down  without  any  design; 
like  pismires,  eager  and  empty;  and  every  thing  they  do  is 
only  as  it  happens.  This  is  a humor  which  a man  may  call 
a kind  of  restless  laziness.  Others  you  shall  have  that  are 
perpetually  in  haste,  as  they  were  crying  Fire,  or  running 
for  a widmife,  and  all  this  hurry,  perhaps,  only  to  salute 
somebody  that  had  no  mind  to  take  notice  of  them ; or  some 
such  trivial  errand.  At  night,  when  they  come  home  tired 
and  weary,  ask  them  why  they  went  out!  where  they  have 
been]  and  what  they  have  done]  it  is  a very  slender  account 
they  are  able  to  give  you : and  yet  the  next  day  they  take 
the  same  jaunt  over  again:  this  is  a kind  of  fantastical  in- 
dustry, a great  deal  of  pains  taken  to  no  purpose  at  all : 
twenty  visits  made,  and  nobody  at  home,  (they  themselves 
leastof  all.)  They  that  have  this  vice  are  commonly  hearken- 
ers,  talebearers,  newsmongers,  meddlers  in  other  people’s 
affairs,  and  curious  after  secrets,  which  a man  can  neither 
safely  hear  nor  report.  These  men  of  idle  employment, 
that  run  up  and  down  eternally  vexing  others,  and  them- 
selves too;  that  thrust  themselves  into  all  companies;  what 
do  they  get  by  it]  One  man  is  asleep,  another  at  supper,  a 
third  in  company,  a fourth  in  haste,  a fifth  gives  them  the 
slip;  and  when  their  folly  has  gone  the  round,  they  close  up 
the  day  with  shame  and  repentance.  Whereas  Zeno,  Py- 
thagoras, Democritus,  Aristotle,  Theophrastus,  and  all  the 
patrons  of  philosophy  and  virtue,  they  are  always  at  leisure, 
and  in  good-humor;  familiar,  profitable:  a man  never  comes 
away  emptyhanded  from  them,  but»  full  of  comfort  and 
satisfaction ; they  make  all  past  ages  present  to  us,  or  us 


286 


EPISTLES. 


their  contemporaries.  The  doors  of  these  men  are  open 
night  and  day;  and  in  their  conversation  there  is  neither 
danger,  treachery,  nor  expense ; but  we  are  the  wiser,  the 
happier,  and  the  richer  for  it.  How  blessedly  does  a man 
spend  his  time  in  this  company,  where  he  may  advise  in  all 
the  difficulties  of  life!  Here  is  counsel  without  reproach, 
and  praise  without  flattery.  We  cannot  be  the  choosers  of 
our  own  parents,  but  of  our  friends  we  may  ; and  adopt  our- 
selves into  these  noble  families.  This  is  the  way  of  making 
mortality,  in  a manner,  to  be  immortal ; the  time  past  we 
make  to  be  our  own  by  remembrance;  the  present,  by  use; 
and  the  future,  by  providence  and  foresight.  That  only  may 
properly  be  said  to  be  the  long  life  that  draws  all  ages  into 
one ; and  that  a short  one  that  forgets  the  past,  neglects  the 
present,  and  is  solicitous  for  the  time  to  come.  But  it  is 
not  yet  sufficient  to  know  what  Plato  or  Zeno  said,  unless 
we  make  it  all  our  own  by  habit  and  pratice;  and  improve 
both  the  world  and  ourselves  by  an  example  of  life  answer- 
able  to  their  precepts. 


EPISTLE  VIII. 

Against  singularity  of  manners  and  behavior. 

It  is  the  humor  of  many  people  to  be  singular  in  their 
dress  and  manner  of  life,  only  to  the  end  that  they  may  be 
taken  notice  of  Their  clothes,  forsooth,  must  be  coarse  and 
slovenly,  their  heads  and  beards  neglected,  their  lodgings 
upon  the  ground,  and  they  live  in  an  open  defiance  of  money. 
VVhat  is  all  this,  upon  the  whole  matter,  but  an  ambitious 
vanity  that  has  crept  in  at  the  back-door]  A wise  man  will 
keep  himself  clear  of  all  these  fooleries  without  disturbing 
public  customs,  or  making  himself  a gazing-stock  to  the  peo- 
ple. Buc  will  this  secure  him,  think  you]  I can  no  more 
warrant  it  than  that  a temperate  man  shall  have  his  health; 
but  it  is  very  probable  that  it  may.  A philosopher  has 
enough  to  do  to  stand  right  in  the  world,  let  him  be  never 
so  modest;  and  his  outside  shall  be  still  like  that  of  other 
people,  let  them  be  never  so  unlike  within.  His  garment 
shall  be  neither  rich  nor  sordid.  No  matter  for  arms,  mot- 
toes, and  other  curiosities  upon  his  plate;  but  he  shall  not 
vet  make  it  a matter  of  conscience  to  have  no  place  at  all. 


EPISTLES. 


287 


He  that  likes  an  earthen  vessel  as  well  as  a silver,  has  not 
a greater  mind  than  he  that  uses  plate  and  reckons  it  as 
dirt.  It  is  our  duty  to  live  better  than  the  common  people, 
but  not  in  opposition  to  them  ; as  if  philosophy  were  a fac- 
tion; for  by  so  doing,  instead  of  reforming  and  gaining  upon 
them,  we  drive  them  away;  and  when  they  find  it  unrea- 
sonable to  imitate  us  in  all  things,  they  will  follow  us  in 
nothing.  Our  business  must  be  to  live  according  to  nature, 
and  to  own  the  sense  of  outward  things  with  other  people, 
not  to  torment  the  body,  and  with  exclamations  against  that 
whicli  is  sweet  and  cleanly  to  delight  in  nastiness ; and  to  use 
not  only  a coarse  but  a sluttish  and  otFensive  diet.  Wisdom 
preaches  temperance,  not  mortification ; and  a man  may  be 
a very  good  husband  without  being  a sloven.  He  that  steers 
a middle  course  betwixt  virtue  and  popularity,  that  is  to  say, 
betwixt  good  manners  and  discretion,  shall  gain  both  appro- 
bation and  reverence.  But  what  if  a man  governs  himself 
in  his  clothes,  in  his  diet,  in  his  exercises,  as  he  ought  to 
do  I It  is  not  that  his  garments,  his  meat  and  drink,  or  his 
walking,  are  things  simply  good  ; but  it  is  the  tenor  of  a 
man’s  life,  and  the  conformity  of  it  to  right  nature  and  rea- 
son. Philosophy  obliges  us  to  humanity,  society,  and  the 
ordinary  use  of  external  things.  It  is  not  a thing  to  plea- 
sure the  people  with,  or  to  entei'tain  an  idle  hour,  but  a study 
for  the  forming  of  the  mind,  and  the  guidance  of  human  life. 
And  a wise  man  should  also  live  as  he  discourses,  and  in  all 
points  be  like  himself;  and,  in  the  first  place,  set  a value 
upon  himself,  before  he  can  pretend  to  become  valuable  to 
others.  As  well  our  good  deeds  as  our  evil  come  home  to  us 
at  last;  he  that  is  charitable  makes  others  so  by  his  example, 
and  finds  the  comfort  of  that  charity  when  he  wants  it  him- 
self. He  that  is  cruel  seldom  finds  mercy.  It  is  a hard 
matter  for  a man  to  be  both  popular  and  virtuous;  for  he 
must  be  like  the  people  that  would  oblige  them;  and  the 
kindness  of  dishonest  men  is  not  to  be  acquired  by  honest 
means.  He  lives  by  reason,  not  by  custom : he  shuns  the 
very  conversation  of  the  intemperate  and  ambitious.  He 
knows  the  danger  of  great  examples  of  wickedness,  and  that 
public  errors  impose  upon  the  world  under  the  authority  of 
precedents ; for  they  take  for  granted  that  they  are  never 
out  of  the  way  so  long  as  they  keep  the  road. 

We  are  beset  with  dangers;  and  therefore  a wise  man 
should  have  his  virtues  in  continual  readiness  to  encounte' 


238 


EPISTLES. 


them.  Whether  poverty,  loss  of  friends,  pains,  sickness,  or 
the  like,  he  still  maintains  his  post;  whereas  a fool  is  sur- 
prised at  every  thinw,  and  afraid  of  his  very  succors;  either 
he  makes  no  resistance  at  all,  or  else  he  does  it  by  halves. 
He  will  neither  take  advice  from  others,  nor  look  to  him- 
self: he  reckons  upon  philosophy  as  a thing  not  worth  his 
time ; and  if  he  can  but  get  the  reputation  of  a good  man 
among  the  common  people,  he  takes  no  farther  care,  but 
accounts  that  he  has  done  his  duty. 


EPISTLE  IX. 

The  blessings  of  a vigorous  mind  in  a decayed  body : with 
some  pertinent  reflections  of  Seneca  upon  his  own  age. 

When  I call  Claranus  my  schoolfellow,  I need  not  say 
any  thing  more  of  his  age,  having  told  you  that  he  and  I 
were  contemporaries.  You  would  not  imagine  how  green 
and  vigorous  his  mind  is,  and  the  perpetual  conflict  that  it 
has  with  his  body.  They  were  naturally  ill-matched,  unless 
to  show  that  a generous  spirit  may  be  lodged  under  any  shape. 
He  has  surmounted  all  difficulties;  and  from  the  contempt 
of  himself  is  advanced  to  the  contempt  of  all  things  else. 
When  I consider  him  well,  methinks  his  body  appears  to 
me  as  fair  as  his  mind.  If  Nature  could  have  brought  the 
soul  naked  into  the  world,  perhaps  she  would  have  done  it: 
but  yet  she  does  a greater  thing,  in  exalting  that  soul  above 
all  impediments  of  the  flesh.  It  is  a great  happiness  to  pre- 
serve the  force  of  the  mind  in  the  decay  of  the  body,  and 
to  see  the  loss  of  appetite  more  than  requited  with  the  love 
of  virtue.  But  whether  I owe  this  comfort  to  my  age,  or  to 
wisdom,  is  the  question  ; and  whether,  if  I could  any  longer, 
I would  not  still  do  the  same  things  over  again  which  I ought 
not  to  do.  If  age  had  no  other  pleasure  than  this,  that  it 
neither  cares  for  any  thing,  nor  stands  in  need  of  any  thing, 
it  were  a great  one  to  me  to  have  left  all  my  painful  and 
troublesome  lusts  behind  me.  But  “ it  is  uneasy,”  you 
will  say,  “to  be  always  in  fear  of  death.”  As  if  that 
apprehension  did  not  concern  a young  man  as  well  as  an  old; 
or  that  death  only  called  us  according  to  our  years.  I am, 
however,  beholden  to  my  old  age,  that  has  now  con- 
fined me  to  my  bed,  and  put  me  out  of  condition  of  doing 


EPISTLES. 


289 


those  things  any  longer  which  I should  not  do.  The  less 
my  mind  has  to  do  with  my  body,  the  better : and  if  age  put 
an  end  to  my  desires,  and  does  the  business  of  virtue,  there 
can  be  no  cause  of  complaint ; nor  can  there  be  any  gentler 
end  than  to  melt  away  in  a kind  of  dissolution.  Where  fire 
meets  with  opposition,  and  matter  to  work  upon,  it  is  furious 
and  rages  ; but  where  it  finds  no  fuel,  as  in  old  age,  it  goes 
out  quietly  for  want  of  nourishment.  Nor  is  the  body  the 
settled  habitation  of  the  mind,  but  a temporary  lodging, 
which  we  are  to  leave  whensoever  the  master  of  the  house 
pleases.  Neither  does  the  soul,  when  it  has  left  the  body, 
any  more  care  what  becomes  of  the  carcass,  and  the  several 
parts  of  it,  than  a man  does  for  the  shaving  of  his  beard 
under  the  hand  of  the  barber.  There  is  not  any  thing  that 
exposes  a man  to  more  vexation  and  reproach  than  the  over- 
much love  of  the  body ; for  sense  neither  looks  forward  nor 
backward,  but  only  upon  the  present : nor  does  it  judge  of 
good  or  evil,  or  foresee  consequences,  which  give  a con- 
nexion to  the  order  and  series  of  things,  and  to  the  unity  of 
life.  Not  but  that  every  man  has  naturally  a love  for  his 
own  carcass,  as  poor  people  love  even  their  own  beggarly 
cottages : they  are  old  acquaintances,  and  loth  to  part ; and 
I am  not  against  the  indulging  them  of  it  neither,  provided 
that  I make  not  myself  a slave  to  it ; for  he  that  serves  it 
has  many  masters.  Beside  that,  we  are  in  continual  dis- 
order; one  while  with  gripes,  pains  in  the  head,  tooth-ache, 
gout,  stone,  defluxions : sometimes  with  too  much  blood, 
other  while  with  too  little : and  yet  this  frail  and  putrid 
carcass  of  ours  values  itself  as  it  were  immortal.  We  put 
no  bounds  to  our  hopes,  our  avarice,  our  ambition.  The 
same  man  is  Vatinius  to-day,  and  Cato  to-morrow ; this 
hour  as  luxurious  as  Apicius,  and  the  next  as  temperate  as 
Tubero ; now  for  a mistress,  by  and  by  for  a wife ; imperious 
this  hour,  servile  the  next;  thrifty  and  prodigal,  laborious 
and  voluptuous,  by  turns.  But  still  the  goods  or  ills  of  the 
body  do  but  concern  the  body,  (which  is  peevish,  sour,  and 
anxious,)  without  any  eflect  upon  a well-composed  mind.  I 
was  the  other  day  at  my  villa,  and  complaining  of  my  charge 
of  repairs;  my  bailiff  told  me,  “It  was  none  of  his  fault; 
for  the  house  was  old,  and  he  had  much  ado  to  keep  it  from 
falling  upon  his  head.”  Well,  thought  I,  “And  what  am  I 
myself  then,  that  saw  the  laying  of  the  first  stone  1”  In  the 
gardens,  I found  the  trees  as  much  out  of  order,  the  boughs 
Z 


290 


EPISTLES. 


knotted  and  withered,  and  their  bodies  overrun  with  moss. 
“ This  would  not  have  been,”  said  I,  “ if  you  had  trenched 
them,  and  watered  them,  as  you  should  have  done.”  “ By 
my  soul,  master,”  says  the  poor  fellow,  “ 1 have  done  what 
I could  ; but,  alas ! they  are  all  dotards,  and  spent.”  “ What 
am  I,  then,”  thought  I to  myself,  “ that  planted  all  these 
trees  with  my  own  hands'!”  And  then  I came  to  bethink 
myself,  that  age  itself  is  not  yet  without  its  pleasures,  if 
we  did  but  know  how  to  use  them ; and  that  the  best  mor- 
sel is  reserved  for  the  last ; or  at  worst,  it  is  equivalent  to  the 
enjoying  of  pleasures,  not  to  stand  in  need  of  any.  It  was 
but  yesterday,  methinks,  that  I went  to  school:  but  time 
goes  faster  with  an  old  man  than  with  the  young;  perhaps, 
because  he  reckons  more  upon  it.  There  is  hardly  any  man 
so  old  but  he  may  hope  for  one  day  more  yet ; and  the  long- 
est life  is  but  a multiplication  of  days;  nay,  of  hours,  nay, 
of  moments.  Our  fate  is  set,  and  the  first  breath  we  draw, 
is  but  the  first  step  towards  our  last.  One  cause  depends 
upon  another;  and  the  course  of  all  things,  public  and  pri- 
vate, is  only  a long  connexion  of  providential  appointments. 
There  is  a great  variety  in  our  lives;  but  all  tends  to  the 
same  issue.  Nature  may  use  her  own  bodies  as  she  pleases; 
but  a good  man  has  this  consolation,  that  nothing  perishes 
that  he  can  call  his  own.  What  must  be,  shall  be ; and 
that  which  is  a necessity  to  him  that  struggles,  is  little  more 
than  choice  to  him  that  is  willing.  It  is  better  to  be  forced 
to  any  thing ; but  things  are  easy  when  they  are  complied 
with. 


EPISTLE  X. 

Custom  is  a great  mailer  either  in  good  or  ill,  "We  sheuld 
check  our  passions  betimes.  Involuntary  motions  are  in- 
vincible. 

There  is  nothing  so  hard  but  custom  makes  it  easy  to  us. 
There  are  some  that  never  laughed,  others  that  wholly  ab- 
stain from  wine  and  women,  and  almost  from  sleep.  Much 
use  of  a coach  makes  us  lose  the  benefit  of  our  legs : so  that 
we  must  be  infirm  to  be  in  the  fashion,  and  at  last  lose  the 
very  faculty  of  walking  by  disusing  it.  Some  are  so  plunged 
in  pleasures  that  they  cannot  live  without  them.  And  in  this 


EPISTLES. 


291 


they  are  most  miserable,  that  what  was  at  first  but  super- 
fluous, is  now  become  necessary.  But  their  infelicity  seems 
to  be  then  consummate  and  incurable,  when  sensuality  has 
laid  hold  of  the  judgment,  and  wickedness  is  become  a habit 
Nay,  some  there  are  that  both  hate  and  persecute  virtue ; 
and  that  is  the  last  act  of  desperation.  It  is  much  easier  to 
aheck  our  passions  in  the  beginning  than  to  stop  them  in 
'.heir  course ; for  if  reason  could  not  hinder  us  at  first,  they 
will  go  on  in  despite  of  us.  The  Stoics  will  not  allow  a 
wise  man  to  have  any  passions  at  all.  The  Peripatetics 
temper  them:  but  that  mediocrity  is  altogether  false  and 
unprofitable.  And  it  is  all  one  as  if  they  said  that  we  may 
be  a little  mad  or  a little  sick.  If  we  give  any  sort  of  al- 
lowance to  sorrow,  fear,  desires,  perturbations,  it  will  not 
be  in  our  power  to  restrain  them  ; they  are  fed  from  abroad, 
and  will  increase  with  their  causes.  And  if  we  yield  never 
so  little  to  them,  the  least  disorder  works  upon  the  whole 
body.  It  is  not  my  purpose  all  this  while  wholly  to  take 
away  any  thing  that  is  either  necessary,  beneficial,  or  de- 
lightful, to  human  life  ; but  to  take  that  away  which  may 
be  vicious  in  it.  When  I forbid  you  to  desire  any  thing,  I 
am  yet  content  that  you  may  be  willing  to  have  it.  So  that 
I permit  you  the  same  things ; and  those  very  pleasures  will 
have  a better  relish  too,  when  they  are  enjoyed  without 
anxiety  ; and  when  you  come  to  command  those  appetites 
which  before  you  served.  It  is  natural,  you  will  say,  to 
weep  for  the  loss  of  a friend,  to  be  moved  at  the  sense  of  a 
good  or  ill  report,  and  to  be  sad  in  adversity.  All  this  I will 
grant  you ; and  there  is  no  vice  but  something  may  be  said 
for  it.  At  first  it  is  tractable  and  modest ; but  if  we  give  it 
entrance,  we  shall  hardly  get  it  out  again.  As  it  goes  on,  it 
gathers  strength,  and  becomes  quickly  ungovernable.  It 
cannot  be  denied  but  that  all  affections  flow  from  a kind  of 
natural  principle,  and  that  it  is  our  duty  to  take  care  of  our- 
selves ; but  then,  it  is  our  duty  also  not  to  be  over-indulgent. 
Nature  has  mingled  pleasures  even  with  things  most  neces- 
sary ; not  that  we  should  value  them  for  their  own  sakes, 
but  to  make  those  things  which  we  cannot  live  without  to 
be  more  acceptable  to  us.  If  we  esteem  the  pleasure  for 
itself,  it  turns  to  luxury : it  is  not  the  business  of  Nature  to 
raise  hunger  or  thirst,  but  to  extinguish  it. 

As  there  are  some  natural  frailties  that  by  care  and  in- 
dustry may  be  overcome,  so  there  are  others  that  are  invin- 


292 


EPISTLES. 


cible:  as  for  a man  that  values  not  his  own  blood  to  swoon 
at  the  sight  of  another  man’s.  Involuntary  motions  are  in- 
superable and  inevitable ; as  the  starting  of  the  hair  at  ill 
news,  blushing  at  a scurrilous  discourse,  swimming  of  the 
head  upon  the  sight  of  a precipice,  &c.  Who  can  read  the 
story  of  Clodius’s  expelling  Cicero,  and  Anthony’s  killing 
of  him;  the  cruelties  of  Marius,  and  the  proscriptions  of 
Sylla;  without  being  moved  atiti  The  sound  of  a trum- 
pet, the  picture  of  any  thing  that  is  horrid,  the  spectacle  of 
an  execution,  strikes  the  mind,  and  works  upon  the  imagi- 
nation. Some  people  are  strangely  subject  to  sweat,  to 
tremble,  to  stammer;  their  very  teeth  will  chatter  in  their 
heads,  and  their  lips  quiver,  and  especially  in  public  as- 
semblies. These  are  natural  infirmities;  and  it  is  not  all 
the  resolution  in  the  world  that  can  ever  master  them. 
Some  redden  when  they  are  angry ; Sylla  was  one  of  those; 
and  when  the  blood  flushed  into  his  face,  you  might  be  sure 
he  had  malice  in  his  heart.  Pompey,  on  the  other  side, 
(that  hardly  even  spake  in  public  without  a blush)  had  a 
wonderful  sweetness  of  nature:  and  it  did  exceedingly  well 
with  him.  Your  comedians  will  represent  fear,  sadness, 
anger,  and  the  like ; but  when  they  come  to  a bashful 
modesty,  though  they  will  give  you  humbleness  of  looks, 
softness  of  speech,  and  downcast  eyes,  to  the  very  life,  yet 
they  can  never  come  to  express  a blush ; for  it  is  a thing 
neither  to  be  commanded  nor  hindered : but  it  comes  and 
goes  of  its  own  accord.  The  course  of  Nature  is  smooth 
and  easy ; but  when  we  come  to  cross  it,  we  strive  against 
the  stream.  It  is  not  for  one  man  to  act  another’s  part ; for 
Nature  will  quickly  return,  and  take  off  the  mask.  There 
is  a kind  of  sacred  instinct  that  moves  us.  Even  the  worst 
have  a sense  of  virtue.  We  are  not  so  much  ignorant  as 
careless.  Whence  comes  it  that  grazing  beasts  distinguish 
salutary  plants  from  deadly  1 A chicken  is  afraid  of  a kite, 
and  not  of  a goose  or  a peacock,  which  is  much  bigger ; a 
bird  of  a cat,  and  not  of  a dog.  This  is  impulse,  and  not 
experiment.  The  cells  of  bees,  and  the  webs  of  spiders, 
are  not  to  be  imitated  by  art,  but  it  is  Nature  that  teaches 
them.  The  stage-player  has  his  actions  and  gestures  in 
readiness;  but  this  is  only  an  improvement  by  art  of  what 
Nature  teaches  them ; who  is  never  at  a loss  for  the  use  of 
herself.  We  come  into  the  world  with  this  knowledge,  and 
ive  nave  it  by  a natural  institution,  which  is  no  other  than 


EPISTLES. 


293 


a natural  logic.  We  brought  the  seeds  of  wisdom  itself 
There  is  the  goodness  of  God  and  that  of  man ; the  one  is 
immortal,  and  the  other  mortal ; Nature  perfects  the  one, 
and  study  the  other. 


EPISTLE  XI. 

We  are  divided  in  ourselves  ; and  confound  good  and  evil. 

It  is  no  wonder,  that  men  are  generally  very  much  un- 
satisfied with  the  world,  when  there  is  not  one  man  of  a 
thousand  that  agrees  with  himself;  and  that  is  the  root  of 
our  misery  ; only  we  are  willing  to  charge  our  own  vices 
upon  the  malignity  of  Fortune.  Either  we  are  puffed  up 
with  pride,  racked  with  desires,  dissolved  in  pleasures,  or 
blasted  with  cares;  and,  which  perfects  our  unhappiness, 
we  are  never  alone,  but  in  perpetual  conflict  and  controversy 
with  our  lusts.  We  are  startled  at  all  accidents;  we  bog- 
gle at  our  own  shadows,  and  fright  one  another.  Lucretius 
says,  “ That  we  are  as  much  afraid  in  the  light  as  children 
in  the  dark but  I say,  “ That  we  are  all  together  in  dark- 
ness, without  any  light  at  all;  and  we  run  on  blindfold, 
without  so  much  as  groping  out  our  way ; which  rashness 
In  the  dark  is  the  worst  of  madness.”  He  that  is  in  his  way 
is  in  hope  of  coming  to  his  journey’s  end  ; but  error  is  end- 
less. Let  every  man  therefore  examine  his  desires,  whether 
they  be  according  to  rectified  nature  or  not.  That  man’s 
mind  can  never  be  right  whose  actions  disagree.  We  must 
not  live  by  chance ; for  there  can  be  no  virtue  without  de- 
liberation and  election  : and  where  we  cannot  be  certain,  let 
us  follow  that  which  is  most  hopeful  and  probable.  Faith, 
justice,  piety,  fortitude,  prudence,  are  venerable,  and  the 
possessions  only  of  good  men : but  a plentiful  estate,  a 
brawny  arm,  and  a firm  body,  are  many  times  the  portion 
of  the  wicked.  The  perfection  of  human  nature  is  that 
state  which  supports  itself,  and  so  is  out  of  the  fear  of  fall 
ing.  It  is  a great  weakness  for  a man  to  value  himself  upon 
any  thing  wherein  he  shall  be  outdone  by  fools  and  beasts. 
We  are  to  consider  health,  strength,  beauty,  and  other  ad- 
vantages of  that  kind,  only  as  adventitious  comforts;  we 
may  preserve  them  with  care,  provided  that  we  be  always 


294 


EPISTLES. 


ready  tc  quit  them  without  trouble.  There  is  a pleasure  ir. 
wickedness  as  well  as  in  virtue ; and  there  are  those  that 
take  a glory  in  it  too : wherefore,  our  forefathers  prescribed 
us  the  best  life,  and  not  the  most  plentiful ; and  allowed  us 
pleasure  for  a companion,  but  not  for  a guide.  We  do  many 
times  take  the  instruments  of  happiness  for  the  happiness 
itself;  and  rest  upon  those  matters  that  are  but  in  the  way 
to  it.  That  man  only  lives  composed  who  thinks  of  every 
thing  that  may  happen  before  he  feels  it.  But  this  is  not  yet 
to  advise  either  neglect  or  indifference ; for  I would  avoid 
any  thing  that  may  hurt  me,  where  I may  honorably  do  it : 
but  yet  1 would  consider  the  worst  of  things  beforehand. 
Examine  the  hope  and  the  fear ; and  where  things  are  un- 
certain, favor  yourself,  and  believe  that  which  you  had  rather 
should  come  to  pass.  There  are  not  many  men  that  know 
their  own  minds  but  in  the  very  instant  of  willing  any  thing. 
We  are  for  one  thing  to-day,  another  thing  to-morrow  ; so 
that  we  live  and  die  without  coming  to  any  resolution ; still 
seeking  that  elsewhere  which  we  may  give  ourselves,  that 
is  to  say,  a good  mind.  And,  in  truth,  we  do  persuade  our- 
selves that,  in  several  cases,  we  do  desire  the  thing  which 
effectually  we  do  not  desire  : and  all  this  for  want  of  laying 
down  some  certain  principles  to  make  the  judgment  inflexi- 
ble and  steady.  When  we  do  any  evil,  it  is  either  for  fear 
of  a greater  evil,  or  in  hope  of  such  a good  as  may  more  than 
balance  that  evil.  So  that  we  are  here  distracted  betwixt 
the  duty  of  finishing  our  purpose  and  the  fear  of  mischief 
nd  danger.  This  infirmity  must  be  discharged.  In  the 
pursuit  of  pleasures  we  should  take  notice,  that  there  are 
not  only  sensual  but  sad  pleasures  also,  which  transport  the 
mind  with  adoration,  (though  they  do  not  tickle  the  senses) 
give  us  a veneration  for  those  virtues  that  exercise  them- 
selves in  sweat  and  blood.  All  true  goods  hold  an  affinity 
and  friendship  one  with  another,  and  they  are  equal;  but 
false  ones  have  in  them  much  of  vanity  ; they  are  large  and 
specious  to  the  eye,  but,  upon  examination,  they  want 
weight.  Now,  though  virtues  are  all  alike,  they  may  yet  be 
distinguished  into  desirable  and  admirable;  virtues  of  pa- 
tience and  of  delight;  but  in  the  matter  of  common  accidents, 
there  is  not  any  thing  which  is  truly  worth  either  of  our 
joy  or  of  our  fear.  For  reason  is  immovable ; does  not 
serve,  but  command  our  senses.  What  is  pleasure  but  a 
low  and  brutish  thing  1 Glory  is  vain  and  volatile;  poverty 


EPISTLES. 


295 


only  hard  to  him  that  does  not  resist  it : superstition  is  a 
frantic  error,  that  fears  where  it  should  love ; and  rudely  in- 
vades where  it  should  reverentially  worship.  Death  itself 
is  no  evil  at  all,  but  the  common  benefit  and  right  of  nature, 
There  is  a great  difference  betwixt  those  things  which  are 
good  in  common  opinion,  and  those  which  are  so  in  truth 
and  effect;  the  former  have  the  name  of  good  things,  but 
not  the  propriety : they  may  befall  us,  but  they  do  not  stick 
to  us : and  they  may  be  taken  away  without  either  pain  to 
us  or  diminution.  We  may  use  them,  but  not  trust  in  them ; 
for  they  are  only  deposited,  and  they  must  and  will  forsake 
us.  The  only  treasure  is  that  which  Fortune  has  no  power 
over ; and  the  greater  it  is,  the  less  envy  it  carries  along 
with  it.  Let  our  vices  die  before  us,  and  let  us  discharge 
ourselves  of  our  dear-bought  pleasures  that  hurt  us,  as  well 
past  as  to  come ; for  they  are  followed  with  repentance  as 
well  as  our  sins.  There  is  neither  substance  in  them  nor 
truth ; for  a man  can  never  be  weary  of  truth  ; but  there  is 
a satiety  in  error.  The  former  is  always  the  same,  but  the 
latter  is  various ; and  if  a man  look  near  it,  he  may  see 
through  it.  Beside  that,  the  possessions  of  a wise  man  are 
maintained  with  ease.  He  has  no  need  of  ambassadors, 
armies,  and  castles;  but,  like  God  himself,  he  does  his  busi- 
ness without  either  noise  or  tumult.  Nay,  there  is  something 
so  venerable  and  sacred  in  virtue,  that  if  we  do  but  meet 
with  any  thing  like  it,  the  very  counterfeit  pleases  us.  By  the 
help  of  philosophy  the  soul  gives  the  slip  to  the  body,  and 
refreshes  itself  in  heaven.  Pleasures  at  best  are  shortlived ; 
but  the  delights  of  virtue  are  secure  and  perpetual.  Only 
we  must  watch,  labor,  and  attend  it  ourselves : for  it  is  a 
business  not  to  be  done  by  a deputy;  nor  is  it  properly  a 
virtue  to  be  a little  better  than  the  worst.  Will  any  man 
boast  of  his  eyes,  because  they  tell  him  that  the  sun  shines'! 
Neither  is  he  presently  a good  man  that  thinks  ill  of  the 
bad:  for  wicked  men  do  that  too;  and  it  is  perhaps  the 
greatest  punishment  of  sin,  the  displeasure  that  it  gives  to  the 
author  of  it.  The  saddest  case  of  all  is,  when  we  become 
enamored  of  our  ruin,  and  make  wickedness  our  study; 
when  vice  has  got  a reputation ; and  when  the  dissolute 
have  lost  the  only  good  thing  they  had  in  their  excesses, 
the  shame  of  offending.  And  yet  the  lewdest  part  of  our 
corruptions  is  in  private ; which,  if  any  body  had  looked  on, 
we  should  never  have  committed.  Wherefore,  let  us  bear 


298 


EPISTLES. 


takes  delight  in  destroying  his  own  Kind.  From  the  danger 
we  are  in  from  men,  we  may  consider  oiir  duly  to  them . 
and  take  care  that  we  neither  do  nor  suffer  wrong.  It  is 
but  liuman  to  be  troubled  at  the  misfortunes  of  another,  and 
to  rejoice  at  his  prosperity ; and  it  is  likewise  prudent  to 
bethink  ourselves  what  we  are  to  do,  and  what  we  are  to 
avoid ; by  which  means  we  may  keep  ourselves  from  being 
either  harmed  or  deceived.  The  things  that  most  provoke 
one  man  to  do  hurt  to  another,  are  hope,  envy,  hatred,  fear, 
and  contempt;  but  contempt  is  the  slightest;  nay,  many 
men  have  betaken  themselves  to  it  for  their  security. 
There  is  no  doubt  but  he  that  is  contemned  shall  be  trode 
upon;  but  then  his  enemy  passes  over  him  as  not  worth 
his  anger. 


EPISTLE  XIII. 

Every  man  is  the  artificer  of  his  own  fortune.  Of  justice 
and  injustice. 

The  short  of  the  question  betwixt  you  and  me  is  this, 
“ Whether  a man  had  better  part  with  himself,  or  some- 
thing else  that  belongs  to  him  1”  And  it  is  easily  resolved, 
in  all  competitions  betwixt  the  goods  of  sense  and  fortune, 
and  those  of  honor  and  conscience.  Those  things  which  all 
men  covet  are  but  specious  outsides;  and  there  is  nothing 
in  them  of  substantial  satisfaction.  Nor  is  there  any  thing 
uo  hard  and  terrible  in  the  contrary  as  the  vulgar  imagine ; 
only  the  word  calamity  has  an  ill  reputation  in  the  world : 
and  the  very  name  is  more  grievous  than  the  thing  itself. 
What  have  I to  complain  of,  if  I can  turn  that  to  happiness 
which  others  count  a misery  1 A wise  man  either  repels  or 
elects,  as  he  sees  the  matter  before  him,  without  fearing 
the  ill  which  he  rejects,  or  admiring  what  he  chooses.  He 
is  never  surprised  ; but  in  the  midst  of  plenty  he  prepares 
for  poverty,  as  a prudent  prince  does  for  war  in  the  depth 
of  peace.  Our  condition  is  good  enough,  if  we  make  the 
best-  of  it;  and  our  felicity  is  in  our  own  power.  Things 
that  are  adventitious  have  no  effect  upon  him  that  studies 
to  make  sure  of  his  happiness  within  himself.”  Every  man 
should  stand  upon  his  guard  against  Fortune;  and  take 


EPISTLES. 


209 


most  heed  to  himself  when  she  speaks  him  fairest.  All  the 
advantage  she  gets  upon  us  is  at  unawares;  whereas  he 
that  is  provided  for  her,  and  stands  the  first  shock,  carries 
the  day.  It  is  not  with  common  accidents  of  life  as  with 
fire  and  sword,  that  burn  and  cut  all  alike;  but  misfortunes 
work  more  or  less  according  to  the  weakness  or  resolutior 
of  the  patient.  He  that  grieves  for  the  loss  of  casual  com 
forts  shall  never  want  occasion  of  sorrow.  We  say  conr 
monly,  “ that  every  man  has  his  weak  side but  give  mr 
leave  to  tell  you,  that  he  that  masters  one  vice  may  mastei 
all  the  rest.  He  that  subdues  avarice,  may  conquer  ambi- 
tion. It  is  not  for  philosophy  to  excuse  vices.  The  patient 
has  little  hope  of  health  when  the  physician  prescribes  in- 
temperance ; though  I know,  on  the  other  side,  that  he  that 
does  any  thing  above  the  ordinary,  does  but  set  up  himself 
for  a mark  to  malevolence  and  envy.  Where  laws  are 
neglected,  corruptions  must  inevitably  be  introduced : for 
the  authority  of  virtue  is  shaken.  And  what  are  laws,  but 
only  j[)rece/its  mingled  with  threats?  With  this  difference, 
that  the  former  deter  us  from  wickedness,  and  the  latter 
advise  us  to  virtue.  A preamble,  methinks,  derogates  from 
the  honor  of  a law,  which  ought  to  be  short  and  clear,  and  to 
command  without  suffering  any  expostulation.  It  is  a flat 
and  an  idle  thing,  a law  with  a prologue.  Let  me  only  be 
told  my  duty,  and  I am  not  to  dispute,  but  to  obey. 

If  I have  not  acquitted  myself  of  my  last  promise  to  you, 
know  that  in  all  promises  there  is  a tacit  reserve ; “ If  I can, 
if  I ought;”  or,  “if  things  continue  in  the  same  state:”  so 
that  by  the  change  of  circumstances  I am  discharged  of  mj 
obligation.  I know  very  well  the  bonds  of  justice ; and 
yet  the  practices  of  the  world  to  the  contrary.  There  are  no 
greater  exacters  of  faith  than  the  perfidious,  no  greater  per- 
secutors of  falsehood  than  the  perjurious.  He  that  loves 
his  neighbor’s  wife,  and  for  that  very  reason  because  she  is 
another  man’s,  locks  up  his  own.  The  wickedness  of  other 
men  we  have  always  in  our  eye,  but  we  cast  our  own  over 
our  shoulders.  A worse  father  chastises  a better  son : he 
that  denies  nothing  to  his  own  luxury  will  pardon  nothing 
in  another  man’s.  A tyrant  is  offended  at  bloodshed ; the 
sacrilegious  punishes  theft,  and  the  greater  part  of  the 
world  quarrels  rather  with  the  offender  than  with  the 
offence.  It  is  very  rare  that  either  the  joy  cy  the  benefit 
of  an  estate  injuriously  gotten  continues  long.  Men  go 


298 


EPISTLES. 


takes  delight  in  destroying  his  own  Kind.  From  the  danger 
we  are  in  from  men,  we  may  consider  our  duty  to  them . 
and  take  care  that  we  neither  do  nor  suffer  wrong.  It  is 
but  human  to  be  troubled  at  the  misfortunes  of  another,  and 
to  rejoice  at  his  prosperity ; and  it  is  likewise  prudent  to 
bethink  ourselves  what  we  are  to  do,  and  what  we  are  to 
avoid ; by  which  means  we  may  keep  ourselves  from  being 
either  harmed  or  deceived.  The  things  that  most  provoke 
one  man  to  do  hurt  to  another,  are  hope,  envy,  hatred,  fear, 
and  contempt;  but  contempt  is  the  slightest;  nay,  many 
men  have  betaken  themselves  to  it  for  their  security. 
There  is  no  doubt  but  he  that  is  contemned  shall  be  trode 
upon ; but  then  his  enemy  passes  over  him  as  not  worth 
his  anger. 


EPISTLE  XIII. 

Every  man  is  the  artificer  of  his  own  fortune.  Of  justice 
and  injustice. 

The  short  of  the  question  betwixt  you  and  me  is  this, 
“ Whether  a man  had  better  part  with  himself,  or  some- 
thing else  that  belongs  to  him  1”  And  it  is  easily  resolved, 
in  all  competitions  betwixt  the  goods  of  sense  and  fortune, 
and  those  of  honor  and  conscience.  Those  things  which  all 
men  covet  are  but  specious  outsides ; and  there  is  nothing 
in  them  of  substantial  satisfaction.  Nor  is  there  any  thing 
so  hard  and  terrible  in  the  contrary  as  the  vulgar  imagine; 
only  the  word  calamity  has  an  ill  reputation  in  the  world  : 
and  the  very  name  is  more  grievous  than  the  thing  itself 
What  have  I to  complain  of,  if  I can  turn  that  to  happiness 
which  others  count  a misery  1 A wise  man  either  repels  or 
elects,  as  he  sees  the  matter  before  him,  without  fearing 
the  ill  which  he  rejects,  or  admiring  what  he  chooses.  He 
is  never  surprised  ; but  in  the  midst  of  plenty  he  prepares 
for  poverty,  as  a prudent  prince  does  for  war  in  the  depth 
of  peace.  Our  condition  is  good  enough,  if  we  make  the 
best  of  it;  and  our  felicity  is  in  our  own  power.  Things 
that  are  adventitious  have  no  effect  upon  him  that  studies 
to  make  sure  of  his  happiness  within  himself.”  Every  man 
should  stand  upon  his  guard  against  Fortune;  and  take 


EPISTLBS. 


209 


most  heed  to  himself  when  she  speaks  him  fairest.  All  the 
advantage  she  gets  upon  us  is  at  unawares;  whereas  he 
that  is  provided  for  her,  and  stands  the  first  shock,  carries 
the  day.  It  is  not  with  common  accidents  of  life  as  with 
fire  and  sword,  that  burn  and  cut  all  alike;  but  misfortunes 
work  more  or  less  according  to  the  weakness  or  resolutior 
of  the  patient.  He  that  grieves  for  the  loss  of  casual  com 
forts  shall  never  want  occasion  of  sorrow.  We  say  com- 
monly, “that  every  man  has  his  weak  side:”  but  give  me 
leave  to  tell  you,  that  he  that  masters  one  vice  may  mastei 
all  the  rest.  He  that  subdues  avarice,  may  conquer  ambi- 
tion. It  is  not  for  philosophy  to  excuse  vices.  The  patient 
has  little  hope  of  health  when  the  physician  prescribes  in- 
temperance ; though  I know,  on  the  other  side,  that  he  that 
does  any  thing  above  the  ordinary,  does  but  set  up  himself 
for  a mark  to  malevolence  and  envy.  Where  laws  are 
neglected,  corruptions  must  inevitably  be  introduced : for 
the  authority  of  virtue  is  shaken.  And  what  are  laws,  but 
on\y  precepts  mingled  with  threats?  With  this  difference, 
that  the  former  deter  us  from  wickedness,  and  the  latter 
advise  us  to  virtue.  A preamble,  methinks,  derogates  from 
the  honor  of  a law,  which  ought  to  be  short  and  clear,  and  to 
command  without  suffering  any  expostulation.  It  is  a flat 
and  an  idle  thing,  a law  with  a prologue.  Let  me  only  be 
told  my  duty,  and  lam  not  to  dispute,  but  to  obey. 

If  I have  not  acquitted  myself  of  my  last  promise  to  you, 
know  that  in  all  promises  there  is  a tacit  reserve ; “ If  I can, 
if  I ought;”  or,  “if  things  continue  in  the  same  state:”  so 
that  by  the  change  of  circumstances  I am  discharged  of  mj 
ooligation.  I know  very  well  the  bonds  of  justice ; and 
yet  the  practices  of  the  world  to  the  contrary.  There  are  no 
greater  exacters  of  faith  than  the  perfidious,  no  greater  per- 
secutors of  falsehood  than  the  perjurious.  He  that  loves 
his  neighbor’s  wife,  and  for  that  very  reason  because  she  is 
another  man’s,  locks  up  his  own.  The  wickedness  of  other 
men  we  have  always  in  our  eye,  but  we  cast  our  own  over 
our  shoulders.  A worse  father  chastises  a better  son : he 
that  denies  nothing  to  his  own  luxury  will  pardon  nothing 
in  another  man’s.  A tyrant  is  offended  at  bloodshed ; the 
sacrilegious  punishes  theft,  and  the  greater  part  of  the 
world  quarrels  rather  with  the  offender  than  with  the 
offence.  It  is  very  rare  that  either  the  joy  of  the  benefit 
of  an  estate  injuriously  gotten  continues  long.  Men  go 


300 


EPISTLES. 


together  by  the  ears  about  the  booty,  and  we  pay  dear  for 
things  of  little  value.  We  live  and  die  luggingone  another, 
breaking  one  another’s  rest;  and  our  lives  are  without  fruit 
and  without  pleasure.  Justice  is  a natural  principle.  I must 
live  thus  with  my  friend,  thus  with  my  fellow-citizen,  thus 
with  my  companion:  and  whyl  because  it  is  just;  not  foi 
design  or  reward : for  it  is  virtue  itself,  and  nothing  else, 
that  pleases  us;  There  is  no  law  extant  for  keeping  the 
secrets  of  a friend,  or  for  not  breaking  faith  with  an  enemy ; 
and  yet  there  is  just  cause  of  complaint  if  a body  betray  a 
trust.  If  a wicked  man  call  upon  me  for  money  that  I 
owe  him,  I will  make  no  scruple  of  pouring  it  into  the 
lap  of  a common  prostitute,  if  she  be  appointed  to  receive 
it.  For  my  business  is  to  return  the  money,  not  to  order 
him  how  he  shall  dispose  of  it.  I must  pay  it  upon  demand 
to  a good  man  when  it  is  expedient,  and  to  a bad  when  he 
calls  for  it. 


EPISTLE  XIV. 

Of  trust  in  friendship,  prayer,  and  bodily  exercise. 

There  are  some  people,  that  if  any  thing  go  cross  with 
them,  though  of  a quality  only  fit  for  the  ear  of  a friend,  out 
it  goes  at  a venture  to  the  next  comer : others  again  are  so 
suspicious,  and  so  obstinately  close,  that  they  will  rather 
perish  than  trust  the  best  friend  they  have  with  it : they  are 
both  of  them  in  the  wrong ; only  one  is  the  better  natured 
error,  and  the  other  the  safer.  Now,  as  to  the  trust  of  a 
friend ; there  are  many  innocent  things  which,  in  their  own 
nature,  may  seem  to  be  privacies,  and  which  custom  has 
ever  reputed  so ; in  which  cases  there  is  place  enough  foi 
the  offices  of  friendship  in  the  mutual  communication  of  oui 
most  secret  cares  and  counsels ; but  yet  we  are  so  to  govern 
ourselves,  that  even  an  enemy  should  not  turn  our  actions  tc 
reproach.  For  an  honest  man  lives  not  to  the  world,  but  to 
his  own  conscience.  There  is  a certain  softness  of  nature 
and  spirit  that  steals  upon  a man;  and,  like  wine  or  love, 
draws  all  things  from  him.  No  man  will  either  conceal  or 
.ell  all  that  he  hears.  But  he  that  tells  the  thing  will  hardly 


EPISTLES. 


301 


conceal  the  author : so  that  it  passes  from  one  to  another ; 
and  that  which  was  at  first  a secret  does  presently  become 
a rumor.  For  this,  and  for  many  other  reasons,  we  should 
set  a watch  upon  our  lips;  and  attend  the  more  useful  and 
necessary  work  of  contemplation.  The  first  petition  that  we 
are  to  make  to  God  Almighty  is  for  a good  conscience,  the 
second  for  health  of  mind;  and  then,  of  body.  There  are 
some  things  which  we  directly  wish  for,  as  joy,  peace,  and 
the  like  : some  that  we  pray  for  only  in  case  of  necessity, 
as  patience  in  pain  or  sickness,  &c. ; others  that  concern  our 
external  behavior,  as  modesty  of  countenance,  decency  of 
motion,  and  such  a demeanor  as  may  become  a prudent 
man.  Many  things  may  be  commodious,  that  is  to  say,  they 
may  be  of  more  use  than  trouble,  and  yet  not  simply  good. 
Some  things  we  have  for  exercise,  others  for  instruction  and 
delight.  These  things  belong  to  us  only  as  we  are  men,  but 
not  as  we  are  good  men.  Some  things  serve  to  correct  and 
regulate  our  manners  ; others  to  inquire  into  the  nature  and 
original  of  them.  How  shall  we  know  what  a man  is  to  do, 
if  we  do  not  search  into  his  nature,  and  find  out  what  is  best 
for  him,  and  what  he  is  to  avoid,  and  what  to  pursue! 
Humanity  not  only  keeps  us  from  being  proud  and  covet- 
ous, but  it  makes  us  affable  and  gentle  in  our  words,  actions 
and  affections.  We  have  no  precepts  from  the  liberal  arts, 
neither  for  this,  nor  for  sincerity,  integrity  of  manners, 
modesty,  frugality,  no,  nor  for  clemency  itself,  which  makes 
us  as  tender  of  another’s  blood  as  of  our  own ; and  distin- 
guishes men  in  society  from  beasts  of  prey.  Some  people 
are  ever  complaining  of  the  iniquity  of  the  times:  but  let 
no  man  depend  upon  the  goodness  of  his  cause,  but  rather 
upon  the  firmness  of  his  courage.  There  may  be  force  or 
bribery  ; I would  hope  the  best,  but  prepare  for  the  worst. 
What  if  I have  served  an  ungrateful  interest,  and  suffered 
wrongfully!  An  honest  man  is  more  troubled  for  the  injus- 
ce  of  a severe  sentence  than  for  the  cruelty  of  it : and 
that  his  country  has  done  an  ill  thing  rather  than  that  he 
himself  suffers  it.  If  he  be  banished,  the  shame  is  not  his, 
but  the  authors  of  it.  He  tempers  his  delights  and  his  af- 
flictions, and  says  to  himself,  that  if  our  joys  cannot  be  long, 
neither  will  our  sorrows.  He  is  patient  in  his  own  misfor 
tunes,  without  envy  at  the  advantages  of  his  neighbor.  His 
virtue  is  bolder  in  the  opposition  of  ill  things  than  tyranny 
itself  can  be  in  the  imposing  of  them.  This  is  rather  to  tell 
2 A 


302 


EPISTLES. 


you  what  you  do  already  than  what  you  should  do.  Go  on 
as  you  have  begun,  and  make  haste  to  be  perfect ; but  take 
notice,  that  the  mind  is  to  be  now  and  then  unbent ; a glass 
of  wine,  a journey,  a mouthful  of  fresh  air,  relieves  it;  but 
then  there  is  a difference  betwixt  a remission  and  a disso- 
lution. Without  exercise,  a dull  humor  invades  us;  and  it 
is  remarkable,  that  men  of  brawny  arms  and  broad  shoul- 
ders have  commonly  weak  souls.  Some  exercises  are  short 
and  gentle,  and  set  the  body  right  presently.  But  whatever 
we  do,  let  us  return  quickly  to  the  mind ; for  that  must  not 
lie  idle.  A little  labor  serves  it;  and  it  works  in  all  seasons: 
in  summer,  winter,  old  age ; nothing  hinders  it.  And  to 
make  it  more  valuable,  it  is  every  day  better  than  another. 
Not  that  I would  have  you  perpetually  poring  upon  a book 
neither,  but  allow  yourself  seasonable  respites,  and  to  it 
again.  A coach  or  a walk,  does  your  body  good  without 
interrupting  your  study ; for  you  may  discourse,  dictate,  read, 
hear,  at  the  same  time.  Now,  though  the  exercises  be  laud- 
able and  healthful,  yet  the  masters  of  them  are  for  the  most 
part  of  lewd  example  : they  divide  their  lives  .betwixt  the 
tavern  and  the  hot-house;  and  a swimming  debauch  is  a 
good  day’s  work  with  them.  But  how  apt  are  we  to  set 
bounds  to  others,  and  none  to  ourselves;  and  to  observe 
their  warts,  when  our  own  bodies  are  covered  with  ulcers! 
What  is  more  ordinary  than  for  people  to  reverence  and  de- 
test the  fortunate  at  the  same  time,  even  for  doing  those 
things  which  they  themselves  would  do  if  they  could  1 There 
might  be  some  hope  of  our  amendment,  if  we  would  but  con- 
fess our  faults ; as  a man  must  be  awake  that  tells  his  dream. 
There  are  some  diseases  which  are  absolutely  hopeless  and 
past  cure  ; but  they  may  yet  be  palliated ; and  philosophy, 
if  it  cannot  help  in  one  case,  it  may  in  another.  To  a man 
in  a fever,  a gentle  remission  is  a degree  of  health  ; and  it 
is  something,  if  a man  be  not  perfectly  sound,  to  be  yet 
more  curable.  But  we  are  loth  to  be  at  the  pains  of  attend- 
ing our  own  business;  we  lead  the  life  in  the  world,  that 
some  lazy  people  do  in  the  market,-they  stand  gaping  about 
them,  without  either  buying  or  selling.  We  slip  our  opportu 
ivities ; and  if  they  be  not  catched  in  the  very  nick,  they 
.are  irrecoverably  lost. 


EPISTLES. 


303 


EPISTLE  XV. 

The  danger  of  flattery : and  in  what  cases  a man  may  oe 
alloxoed  to  commend  himself. 

Demetrius  was  wont  to  say,  “That  knavery  was  the 
ready  way  to  riches and  that  the  casting  off  of  virtue  was 
the  first  step  to  thriving  in  the  world.  Study  but  the  art 
o? flattery,  (which  is  now-a-days  so  acceptable,  that  a mode- 
rate commendation  passes  for  a libel,)  study  that  art,  (I  say,) 
and  you  shall  do  your  business  without  any  risk  upon  the 
seas,  or  any  hazards  of  merchandizing,  husbandry,  or  suits 
at  law.  There  is  not  one  man  of  a million  that  is  proof 
against  an  artificial  flattery ; but  something  or  other  will 
stick,  if  we  do  but  give  him  the  hearing.  Nay,  we  like  him 
well  enough,  thougli,  we  shake  him  ofl^,  and  the  quarrel  is 
easily  reconciled.  We  seem  to  oppose  him,  but  we  do  not 
shut  the  door  against  him ; or  if  we  do,  it  is  but  what  a 
mistress  will  do  sometimes  upon  her  servant,  “She  would 
be  well  enough  content  to  be  hindered ; and  take  it  much 
better  yet  to  have  it  broke  open.”  Beside  that,  a man  lies 
commonly  most  opefi  where  he  is  attacked.  How  shamefully 
are  great  men  fawned  upon  by  their  slaves,  and  inured  to 
fulsome  praises!  when  the  only  business  of  those  that  call 
themselves  friends  is  to  try  who  can  most  dexterously  de- 
ceive his  master.  For  want  of  knowing  their  own  strength, 
they  believe  themselves  as  great  as  their  parasites  represent 
them  : and  venture  upon  broils  and  wars  to  their  irreparable 
destruction.  They  break  alliances,  and  transport  them- 
selves into  passions,  which,  for  want  of  better  counsels,  hurry 
them  on  to  blood  and  confusion.  They  pursue  every  wild 
imagination  as  a certainty,  and  think  it  greater  disgrace  to 
be  bent,  than  to  be  broken.  They  set  up  their  rest  upon 
the  perpetuity  of  a tottering  fortune,  until  they  come  at  last 
to  see  the  ruin  of  themselves  upon  their  possessions;  and, 
too  late,  to  understand  that  their  misfortunes  and  their  flat- 
teries were  of  the  same  date.  There  is  a sparing  and  a 
crafty  flattery,  that  looks  like  plain  dealing;  but  all  flatteries 
are  words  of  course,  and  he  that  receives  them  will  give  them. 
Nay,  let  it  be  never  so  shameless,  a man  takes  all  to  him- 
self, though  his  very  conscience  gives  him  the  lie.  Crueltv 
shall  be  translated  mercy ; extortion  and  oppression  shall  be 


304 


EPISTLES. 


called  liberality ; lust  and  gluttony,  to  the  highest  degree 
in  the  world,  shall  be  magnified  for  temperance.  Now,  what 
hope  is  there  of  his  changing  for  the  better  that  values  him- 
self for  the  best  of  men  already  1 The  stroke  of  an  arrow 
convinced  Alexander  that  he  was  not  the  son  of  Jupiter,  but 
a mortal  man.  And  thus,  upon  the  experiment  of  human 
frailty,  should  every  man  say  to  himself.  Am  not  I sad  some- 
times, and  tortured  betwixt  hope  and  fearl  Do  I not  hanker 
after  vain  pleasures'!  He  that  is  not  yet  satisfied  is  nofso 
good  as  he  should  be.  The  words  of  flatterers  and  parasites 
seldom  die  in  the  hearing;  and  when  they  have  gained  ad- 
mittance, they  grow  more  and  more  upon  you;  and  shortlj' 
they  will  tell  you  that  virtue,  •philosophy,  and  justice,  are 
but  empty  sounds;  let  every  man  live  while  he  may,  and 
make  the  best  of  the  present;  and  not  govern  himself  at  a 
rate  as  if  he  were  to  keep  a diary  for  his  father.  What 
madness  is  it  to  enrich  a man’s  heir  and  starve  himself;  and 
to  turn  a friend  into  an  enemy  ! for  his  joy  will  be  propor- 
tioned to  what  you  leave  him.  Never  trouble  yourself  for 
these  superfluous  censors  of  other  men’s  lives  and  enemies 
of  their  own  ; these  pedagogues  of  mankind  are  not  worth 
your  care.  These  are  the  people  that  draw  us  from  our 
parents  and  country,  our  friends,  and  other  necessary  duties. 

I would  neither  be  deceived  myself  nor  deceive  others ; 
but  if  a man  cannot  live  without  it,  let  him  commend  him- 
self, and  say  thus  : “ I have  applied  myself  to  liberal  studies, 
though  both  the  poverty  of  my  condition  and  my  own  reason 
might  rather  have  put  me  upon  the  making  of  my  fortune. 
I have  given  proof  that  all  minds  are  capable  of  goodness; 
and  have  illustrated  the  obscurity  of  my  family,  by  the 
eminency  of  my  virtue.  I have  preserved  my  faith  in  all 
extremities,  and  I have  ventured  my  life  for  it.  I have 
never  spoken  one  word  contrary  to  my  conscience,  and  1 
have  been  more  solicitous  for  my  friend  than  for  myself:  1 
never  made  any  base  submission  to  any  man ; and  I have 
never  done  any  thing  unworthy  of  a resolute  and  of  an  hon- 
est man.  My  mind  is  raised  so  much  above  all  dangers, 
that  I have  mastered  all  hazards ; and  I bless  myself  in  the 
providence  which  gave  me  that  experiment  of  my  virtue; 
for  it  was  not  fit,  methought,  that'  so  great  glory  should 
come  cheap.  Nay,  1 did  not  so  much  as  deliberate  whether 
good  faith  should  suffer  for  me  or  I for  it.  I stood  my 
ground,  without  laying  violent  hands  upon  myself,  to  es- 


EPISTXES. 


305 


cape  the  rage  of  the  powerful ; though  under  Caligula,  1 
saw  cruelties  to  such  a degree,  that  to  be  killed  outright 
was  accounted  a mercy.  And  yet  I persisted  in  my  honesty, 
to  show  that  I was  ready  to  do  more  than  die  for  it.  My 
mind  was  never  corrupted  with  gifts ; and  when  the  humor 
of  avarice  was  at  the  height,  I never  laid  my  hand  upon  any 
unlawful  gain.  I have  been  temperate  in  my  diet;  modest 
m my  discourse;  courteous  and  afiable  to  my  inferiors  ; and 
have  ever  paid  a respect  and  reverence  to  my  betters.”  After 
all,  what  I have  said  is  either  true  or  false:  if  true,  I have 
commended  myself  before  a great  witness,  my  own  con- 
science ; if  false,  I am  ridiculous  without  any  witness  at  all. 
Let  every  man  retire  into  himself;  for  the  old,  the  young, 
men,  women,  and  children,  they  are  all  wicked.  Not  every 
one  only,  or  a few,  but  there  is  a general  conspiracy  in  evil. 
We  should  therefore  fly  the  world,  withdraw  into  ourselves, 
and  in  some  sort  avoid  even  ourselves  too. 


EPISTLE  XVI. 

A general  dissolution  of  manners ; with  a censure  of  cor- 
rupt magistrates. 

The  corruption  of  the  present  times  is  the  general  com- 
plaint of  all  times;  it  ever  has  been  so,  and  it  ever  will  be 
so : not  considering  that  the  wickedness  of  the  world  is  al- 
ways the  same  as  to  the  degree  of  it,  though  it  may  change 
places,  perhaps,  and  vary  a little  in  the  matter.  One  while 
whoring  is  in  fashion,  another  while  gluttony ; to-day  excess 
in  apparel,  and  more  care  of  the  body  than  of  the  mind  ; to- 
morrow comes  up  the  humor  of  scoffing;  and  after  that,  per- 
chance, a vein  of  drinking ; when  he  shall  be  accounted  the 
bravest  man  that  makes  himself  the  veriest  beast  This 
prostitute  looseness  of  manners  makes  way  for  sedition  and 
cruelty.  Under  Tiberius,  the  plague  of  your  dilators  oi 
informers,  was  worse  than  any  civil  war.  It  was  an  age 
wherein  the  words  of  men  in  their  cups,  the  most  innocent 
railleries,  and  ingenuous  freedoms  of  conversation,  were 
made  capital : when  it  was  dangerous  to  be  honest,  and  only 
profitable  to  be  vicious ; and  not  only  ill  -things,  but  vice 
2 A2 


306 


EPISTLES. 


itself,  was  both  commended  and  preferred ; for  all  insolences, 
when  they  come  to  be  exemplary,  they  pretend  to  be  law- 
ful. Authority  in  sin  is  an  incentive  to  it:  and  it  is  at 
least  an  excuse,  if  not  a warrant,  to  transgress  after  great 
example.  Beside  that,  we  are  prone  enough  to  do  amiss 
even  of  ourselves,  without  either  a leader  or  a companion. 
But  it  is  a malevolent  sort  of  comfort,  that  which  men  take 
in  the  number  of  the  wicked. 

The  worst  of  all  is,  that  whereas  in  other  cases,  the  peo- 
ple are  ashamed  of  their  errors,  in  that  of  life  they  are  de- 
lighted with  them,  and  so  become  incurable.  The  pilot 
takes  no  pleasure  in  running  upon  a rock ; nor  the  physician 
in  the  death  of  his  patient;  nor  the  advocate  in  the  loss  of 
his  client’s  cause:  but  on  the  other  side,  the  criminal  re- 
joices in  his  uncleanness,  in  his  ambition,  and  in  his  theft; 
and  never  troubles  himself  for  the  fault,  but  for  the  miscar- 
riage. He  makes  infamy  the  reward  of  lewdness,  and 
values  himself  upon  his  excellency  in  ill-doing.  The  ques- 
tion is,  who  shall  be  most  impious;  we  have  every  day 
worse  appetites  and  less  shame.  Sobriety  and  conscience 
are  become  foolish  and  scandalous  things ; and  it  is  half  the 
relish  of  our  lusts  that  they  are  committed  in  the  face  of  the 
sun.  Innocency  is  not  only  rare,  but  lost;  and  mankind  is 
entered  into  a sort  of  confederacy  against  virtue  : to  say  no- 
thing of  intestine  wars,  fathers  and  sons  in  league  against 
one  another,  poisoned  fountains,  troops  in  search  of  the  ban- 
ished and  proscribed,  prisons  crammed  with  worthy  men, 
cities  demolished,  rape  and  adultery  authorized,  public  per- 
juries and  frauds,  a violation  of  common  faith,  and  all  the 
bonds  of  human  society  cancelled.  Adultery  is  the  ready 
way  to  wedlock,  and  marriage  to  a single  life  again  ; for 
farting  is  one  condition  of  it:  for  they  divorce  to  marry, 
and  they  marry  to  be  divorced.  That  which  they  often  talk 
and  hear  of,  they  easily  do.  VV^hat  shame  can  there  be  of 
incontinence,  when  modesty  is  become  a reproach ; and 
when  it  is  the  mode  of  every  wife  to  provide  herself  a gal- 
lant or  two  beside  her  husband '!  It  is  an  idle  thing  to  think 
of  ever  converting  those  people  that  find  both  advantage  and 
reputation  in  their  wickedness. 

Would  any  man  ever  have  imagined  that  Clodius  should 
have  come  off  bv  bribery  for  debauching  the  wife  of  Csesar, 
and  profaning  tne  public  vows  for  the  safety  of  the  people! 
But  the  judges  were  corrupted ; and  not  only  with  money, 


EPISTLES. 


ao7 

but  with  the  bodies  of  young’  men  and  women  : so  that  his 
absolution  wa*  fouler  than  his  crime ; the  bribe  was  adul- 
tery as  well  as  the  offence;  and  he  had  no  way  to  be  safe 
till  he  had  made  his  judges  like  himself  “ Name  the  woman 
you  have  a mind  tOj”  says  he,  “and you  shall  have  her:  and 
when  you  have  committed  the  sin,  condemn  it  if  you  dare. 
Appoint  the  time  and  the  place,  and  she  shall  be  ready  for 
you.”  Nay,  the  practice  was  so  gross  that  the  bench  desired 
a guard  of  the  senate  to  secure  them  from  the  people.  Be- 
fore the  sentence  was  given  he  was  an  adulterer,  in  the 
manage  of  the  cause  he  was  a pander,  and  his  way  of  es- 
caping punishment  was  fouler  than  the  offence  that  de- 
served it.  A lust  that  spared  not  the  altar,  and  perverted 
justice  upon  the  very  seat  of  judgment.  The  question  was, 
“Whether  an  adulterer  should  escape  unpunished!”  and 
the  resolution  was,  That  “without  being  an  adulterer  he 
could  not  be  secure.”  Nor  is  it  likely  that  their  conversa- 
tion was  one  jot  honester  than  their  sentence  ; these  things 
have  been  done,  and  will  be  done.  Discipline  and  fear  may 
restrain  the  license  of  the  people ; but  it  is  not  to  be  thought 
that  they  will  ever  be  good  of  their  own  accord.  But  let 
us  not  yet  speak  of  luxury  and  dissolution  as  the  vices  of 
the  age,  which  in  truth  are  only  the  vices  of  the  men.  The 
practices  of  our  times  are  moderate  compared  with  those, 
when  the  delinquent  pleaded  not  guilty  to  the  bench,  and 
the  bench  confessed  itself  guilty  to  the  delinquent ; and 
when  one  adultery  was  excused  by  another.  In  those 
days  it  passed  for  great  piety  not  to  be  very  impious.  He 
that  gave  most  carried  the  cause ; and  it  is  but  according 
to  the  laws  of  nations  for  him  that  buys  to  sell.  And  it  is 
to  be  noted,  that  a man  may  be  as  covetous  of  getting  what 
he  intends  to  squander  away  as  if  he  were  to  hoard  it  up 
The  contempt  of  poverty  in  others,  and  the  fear  of  it  in  our 
selves,  unmerciful  oppressions,  and  mercenary  magistrates 
are  the  common  grievances  of  a licentious  government. 
The  baths  and  the  theatres  are  crowded,  when  the  temples 
and  the  schools  are  empty ; for  men  mind  their  pleasures 
more  than  their  manners.  All  vices  gain  upon  us  by  the 
promise  of  reward  ; avarice  promises  money,  luxury  sensual 
satisfaction,  ambition  promises  preferment  and  power.  And 
it  is  no  excuse  to  say  that  a man  is  not  very  covetous ; a 
little  ambitious,  choleric,  inconstant,  lustful,  and  the  like. 
He  had  better  have  one  great  vice  than  a spice  of  all  little 
ones.  We  say  commonly,  that  a fool  has  all  sorts  of  vices 


308 


EPISTLES. 


in  him ; that  is  to  say,  lie  is  free  from  none ; but  they  do 
not  all  appear;  and  he  is  more  prone  to  one  than  to  another. 
One  is  given  to  avarice,  another  to  luxury,  a third  to  wan- 
tonness ; but  we  are  not  yet  to  ask  the  Stoics  if  Achilles  be 
a coward,  Aristides  unjust,  Fabius  rash,  Mucius  a traitor, 
Camillus  a deserter.  We  do  not  say,  that  all  vices  are  in 
all  men,  as  some  are  in  some  particulars. 


EPISTLE  XVII. 

The  original  of  all  men  is  the  same  ; and  virtue  is  the 
only  nobility.  There  is  a tenderness  due  to  servants. 

is  not  well  done  to  be  still  murmuring  against  Nature 
nd  Fortune,  as  if  it  were  their  unkindness  that  makes  you 
inconsiderable,  when -it  is  only  by  your  own  weakness  that 
you  make  yourself  so:  for  it  is  virtue,  not  pedigree,  that 
renders  a man  either  valuable  or  happ^  Philosophy  does 
not  either  reject  or  choose  any  man  for  his  quality.  Socrates 
was  no  patrician,  Cleanthes  but  an  under-gardener ; neither 
did  Plato  dignify  philosophy  by  his  birth,  but  by  his  good- 
ess.  All  these  worthy  men  are  our  progenitors,  if  vio  will 
ut  do  ourselves  the  honor  to  become  their  disciples.^ The 
riginal  of  all  mankind  was  the  same : and  it  is  only  a clear 
conscience  that  makes  any  man  noble : for  that  derives  even 
from  Heaven  itself^  It  is  the  saying  of  a great  man,  that  if 
we  could  trace  our  descents,  we  should  find  all  slaves  to 
come  from  princes,  and  all  princes  from  slaves.  But  Fortune 
has  turned  all  things  topsy-turvy  in  a long  story  of  revolu- 
tions. It  is  most  certain  that  our  beginning  had  nothing  be- 
fore it:  and  our  ancestors  were  some  of  them  splendid, 
others  sordid,  as  it  happened.  We  have  lost  the  memorials 
of  our  extraction ; and,  in  truth,  it  matters  not  whence  we 
came,  but  whither  we  go.  Nor  is  it  any  more  to  our  honor, 
the  glory  of  our  predecessors,  Aan  it  is  to  their  shame,  the 
wickedness  of  their  posterity.^We  are  all  of  us  composed  of 
the  same  elements;  why  should  we  then  value  ourselves 
upon  our  nobility  of  blood,  as  if  we  were  not  all  of  us  equaj^ 
if  we  could  but  recover  our  evidence  IjftBut  when  we  can 
carry  it  no  farther,  the  herald  provides  us  some  hero  to  sup- 
ply the  place  of  an  illustrious  original ; and  there  is  the  rise 


UriSTLES. 


909 

of  arms  and  families.  For  a man  to  spend  his  life  in  pursuit 
of  a title,  that  serves  only  when  he  dies  to  furnish  out  an 
epitaph,  is  below  a wise  man’s  business. 

It  pleases  me  exceedingly  to  understand,  by  all  that  come 
out  of  your  quarters,  that  you  demean  yourself  humanely 
and  tenderly  towards  your  servants.  It  is  the  part  of  a wise 
and  a good  man,  to  deal  with  his  inferior  as  he  would  have 
his  superior  deal  with  him  ; for  servants  are  not  only  men, 
but  a kind  of  humble  friends;  and  Fortune  has  no  more 
power  over  them,  than  over  their  masters;  and  he  that  duly 
considers,  how  many  servants  have  come  to  be  masters, 
and  how  many  masters  to  be  servants,  will  lay  no  great 
stress  of  argument  either  upon  the  one  or  upon  the  other. 
Some  use  their  servants  worse  than  beasts,  in  slavish  at- 
tendances betwixt  their  drink  and  their  lusts:  some  are 
brought  up  only  to  carve,  others  to  season ; and  all  to  serve 
the  turns  of  pomp  and  luxury.  Is  it  not  a barbarous  custom 
to  make  it  almost  capital  for  a servant  only  to  cough,  sneeze, 
sigh,  or  but  wag  his  lips  while  he  is  in  waiting:  and  to  keep 
him  the  whole  night  mute  and  fasting!  Yet  so  it  comes  to 
pass,  that  they  that  dare  not  speak  before  their  ma.sters,  will 
not  forbear  talking  of  them ; and  those,  on  the  other  side, 
that  were  allowed  a modest  freedom  of  speech  in  their  mas- 
ter’s entertainments,  were  most  obstinately  silent  upon  the 
torture,  rather  than  they  would  betray  them.  But  we  live 
as  if  a servant  were  not  made  of  the  same  materials  with  his 
master,  or  to  breathe  the  same  air,  or  to  live  and  die  under 
the  same  conditions.  It  is  worthy  of  observation,  that  the 
most  imperious  masters  over  their  own  servants,  are  at  the 
same  time  the  most  abject  slaves  to  the  servants  of  other 
masters.  I will  not  distinguish  a servant  by  his  office,  but 
by  his  manners.  The  one  is  the  work  of  Fortune,  the  other 
of  Virtue.  But  we  look  only  to  his  quality,  and  not  to  his 
merit.  Why  should  not  a brave  action  rather  dignify  the 
condition  of  a servant,  than  the  condition  of  a servant  lessen 
a brave  action  1 I would  not  value  a man  for  his  clothes  or 
degree,  any  more  than  I would  do  a horse  for  his  trappings 
What  if  he  be  a servant!  Show  me  any  man  that  is  not 
so,  to  his  lusts,  his  avarice,  his  ambition,  his  palate,  to  his 
queen;  nay,  to  other  men’s  servants;  and  we  are  all  of  us 
servants  to  fear.  Insolent  we  are  many  oTus  at  home; 
servile  and  despised  abroad  ; and  none  are  more  liable  to  De 
kramuled  upon  than  those  that  have  gotten  a habit  of  giving 


EPISTLES. 


310 

affiants  by  suffering  them.  What  matters  it  how  many 
masters  we  have  when  it  is  but  one  slavery  1 and  whoso- 
ever contemns  that  is  perfectly  free,  let  his  masters  be  neve** 
so  many.  That  man  is  only  free,  not  whom  Fortune  has  a 
Uule  power  over,  but  over  whom  she  has  none  at  all:  which 
state  of  liberty  is  an  inestimable  good,  when  we  desire  no- 
thing that  is  either  superfluous  or  vicious.  They  are  asses 
that  are  made  for  burden,  and  not  the  nobler  sort  of  horses. 
In  the  civil  wars  betwixt  Ceesar  and  Pompey,  the  question 
was  not,  who  should  be  slaves  or  free,  but  who  should  be 
master.  Ambition  is  the  same  thing  in  private  that  it  is  in 
public;  and  the  duties  are  effectually  the  same  betwixt  the 
master  of  a kingdom  and  the  master  of  a family.  As  I would 
treat  some  servants  kindly  because  they  are  worthy,  and 
others  to  make  them  so;  so,  on  the  other  side,  I would  have 
a servant  to  reverence  his  master ; and  rather  to  love  him 
than  fear  him.  Some  there  are  that  think  this  too  little  for 
a master,  though  it  is  all  that  we  pay  even  to  God  himself. 
The  body  of  a servant  may  be  bought  and  sold,  but  his  mind 
. is  free. 


EPISTLE  XVIII. 

We  are  more  just  to  men  than  to  God.  Of  life  and  death , 
of  good  and  evil. 

It  is  without  dispute,  that  the  loss  of  a friend  is  one  of 
the  greatest  trials  of  human  frailty ; and  no  man  is  so  much 
exalted  above  the  sense  of  that  calamity  as  not  to  be  affect- 
ed with  it.  And  yet  if  a man  bear  it  bravely,  they  cry, 
“ He  has  no  sense  of  piety  or  good-nature  in  him  ;”  if  he 
sink  under  it,  they  call  him  effeminate : so  that  he  lies  both 
ways  under  a reproach.  And  what  is  the  ground  of  the 
trouble,  I beseech  you,  but  that  he  might  have  lived  longer 
in  respect  of  his  years;  and  in  effect  that  he  ought  to  have 
done  so  in  regard  of  his  usefulness  to  the  world  1 I cannot 
out  wonder  to  see  men  that  are  really  just  and  temperate  in 
all  their  dealings  with  men,  and  in  business,  so  exceedingly 
to  forget  themselves  in  this  point.  But  we  have,  in  e.xcuse 
of  this  error,  the  failings  of  the  whole  world  with  us  for 
company.  For  even  those  that  are  the  most  scrupulously 


EPISTLES.  311 

..onscientious  toward  men,  are  yet  unthankful  and  injurious 
to  Providence. 

It  is  not  the  number  of  days  that  makes  a life  long,  but 
the  full  employment  of  them  upon  the  main  end  and  purpose 
of  life;  which  is  the  perfecting  of  the  mind,  in  making  a 
man  the  absolute  master  of  himself.  I reckon  the  matter  of 
age  among  external  things : the  main  point  is,  to  live  and 
die  with  honor.  Every  man  that  lives  is  upon  the  way,  and 
must  go  through  with  his  journey,  without  stopping  till  he 
comes  at  the  end  : and  wheresoever  it  ends,  if  it  end  well. 
It  is  a perfect  life.  There  is  an  invincible  fate  that  attends 
all  mortals;  and  one  generation  is  condemned  to  tread  upon 
the  heels  of  another.  Take  away  from  life  the  power  of 
death,  and  it  is  a slavery.  As  Caligula  was  passing  upon 
the  way,  an  old  man  that  was  a prisoner,  and  with  a beard 
down  to  his  girdle,  made  it  his  request  to  Caasar  that  he 
might  be  put  to  death.  “ Why,”  says  Caisar  to  him,  “ are 
you  not  dead  already  1”  So  that  you  see  some  desire  it  as 
well  as  others  fear  it;  and  why  notl  when  it  is  one  of  the 
duties  of  life  to  die,  and  it  is  one  of  the  comforts  of  it  too; 
for  the  living  are  under  the  power  of  Fortune,  but  she  has 
no  dominion  at  all  over  the  dead.  How  can  life  be  pleasant 
to  any  man  that  is  not  prepared  to  part  with  it  1 or  what 
loss  can  be  easier  to  us  than  that  which  can  never  be  missed 
or  desired  again!  I was  brought  by  a defluxion  into  a 
hopeless  consumption,  and  I had  it  many  times  in  my  thought 
to  deliver  myself  from  a miserable  life  by  a violent  death; 
but  the  tenderness  I had  for  an  aged  and  indulgent  father 
held  my  hands;  for,  thought  I to  myself,  it  will  be  very 
hard  for  my  father  to  be  without  me,  though  I could  most 
willingly  part  with  myself.  In  the  case  of  a particular 
disease,  a physician  may  propound  a remedy  ; but  the  only 
remedy,  for  all  diseases,  is  the  contempt  of  death.  (Though 
I know  too,  that  it  is  the  business  of  a long  life  to  learn 
that  lesson.) 

Oh  ! the  happiness  of  distinguishing  good  from  evil  in  the 
works  of  Providence ! But  instead  of  raising  our  thoughts 
to  the  contemplation  of  divine  matters,  and  inquiring  into 
the  original,  the  state  and  appointed  issue  of  created  nature, 
we  are  digging  of  the  earth,  and  serving  of  our  avarice  ; 
neglecting  all  the  good  things  that  are  so  frankly  oflered  us. 
How  great  a folly  and  madness  is  it  for  men  that  are  dying 
and  in  the  hands  of  death  already,  to  extend  their  nones, 


312 


EPISTLES. 


and  to  carry  their  ambition  and  desires  to  the  grave  unsatis- 
fied ! For  whosoever  is  tainted  with  those  hydropic  appe- 
tites can  never  have  enough  either  of  money  or  power.  It 
is  a remarkable  thing,  that  among  those  that  place  their 
happiness  in  sense,  they  are  the  most  miserable  that  seem 
to  be  happiest.  The  riches  of  Nature  are  the  most  precious 
treasures.  What  has  any  man  to  desire  more  than  to  keep 
himself  from  cold,  hunger,  and  thirst  1 It  is  not  the  quantity, 
but  the  opinion,  that  governs  in  this  case,  “That  can  never 
be  little  which  is  enough ; nor  does  any  man  account  that 
to  be  much  which  is  too  little.”  The  benefits  of  Fortune 
are  so  far  comfortable  to  us  as  we  enjoy  them  without  losing 
the  possession  of  ourselves.  Let  us  purge  our  minds,  and 
follow  Nature ; we  shall  otherwise  be  still  either  fearing  or 
craving,  and  slaves  to  accidents.  Not  that  there  is  any 
pleasure  in  poverty;  but  it  is  a great  felicity  for  a man  to 
bring  his  mind  to  be  contented  even  in  that  state  which 
fortune  itself  cannot  make  worse.  Methinks  our  quarrels 
with  ambition  and  profitable  employments  are  somewhat  like 
those  we  have  with  our  mistresses;  we  do  not  hate  them, 
but  wrangle  with  them.  In  a word,  betwixt  those  things 
which  are  sought  and  coveted,  and  yet  complained  of,  and 
those  things  which  we  have  lost,  and  pretend  that  we  can- 
not live  without,  our  misfortunes  are  purely  voluntary ; and 
we  are  servants,  not  so  much  by  necessity  as  by  choice. 
No  man  can  be  happy  that  is  not  free  and  fearless;  and  no 
man  can  be  so  but  he  that  by  philosophy  has  got  the  better 
of  Fortune.  In  what  place  soever  we  are,  we  shall  find 
ourselves  beset  with  the  miseries  of  human  nature;  some 
without  us,  that  either  encompass  us,  deceive  us,  or  force 
us;x)thers  within  us,  that  eat  up  our  very  hearts  in  the 
middle  of  solitude.  And  it  is  not  yet,  as  we  imagine,  that 
Fortune  has  long  arms ; she  meddles  with  nobody  that  does 
not  first  lay  hold  upon  her.  We  should  keep  a distance, 
therefore,  and  withdraw  into  the  knowledge  of  Nature  and 
of  ourselves.  We  understand  the  original  of  things,  the 
order  of  the  world,  the  circu.acion  of  the  seasons,  the  courses 
of  the  stars,  and  that  the  whole  frame  of  the  universe  (only 
'he  earth  excepted)  is  but  a perpetual  motion.  We  know 
the  causes  of  day  and  night,  of  light  and  darkness,  but  it  is 
at  a distance : let  us  direct  our  thoughts  then  to  that  place, 
where  we  shall  see  all  nearer  hand.  And  it  is  not  this 
.hope  neither  that  makes  a wise  man  resolute  at  the  point 


EPISTLES. 


31S 


of  death,  because  death  lies  in  his  way  to  heaven  ; for  the 
soul  of  a wise  man  is  there  beforehand  : nay,  if  there  were 
nothing’  after  death  to  be  either  expected  or  feared,  he  would 
yet  leave  this  world  with  as  great  a mind,  though  he  were 
to  pass  into  a state  of  annihilation.  He  that  reckons  every 
hour  his  last,  a day  or  an  age  is  all  one  to  him.  Fate  is 
doing  our  work  while  we  sleep ; death  steals  upon  us  insen- 
sibly, and  the  more  insensibly,  because  it  passes  under  the 
name  of  life.  From  childhood  we  grow  up  without  perceiv- 
ing it  to  old  age;  and  this  increase  of  our  life,  duly  con- 
sidered, is  a diminution  of  it.  We  take  death  to  be  before 
us,  but  it  is  behind  us ; and  has  already  swallowed  up  all 
that  is  past ; wherefore  make  use  of  the  present,  and  trust 
nothing  to  the  morrow,  for  delay  is  just  so  much  time  lost. 
We  catch  hold  of  hopes  and  flatteries  of  a little  longer  life, 
as  drowning  men  do  upon  thorns  or  straws,  that  either  hurt 
us  or  deceive  us.  You  will  ask,  perhaps,  what  I do  myself 
that  preach  at  this  rate.  Truly  I do  like  some  ill  husbands, 
that  spend  their  estates  and  yet  keep  their  accounts ; I run 
out,  but  yet  I can  tell  which  W'ay  it  goes.  And  I have  the 
fate  of  ill  husbands  too  another  way;  for  every  body  pities 
me,  and  nobody  helps  me.  The  soul  is  never  in  the  right 
place  so  long  as  it  fears  to  quit  the  body.  Why  should  a 
man  trouble  himself  to  extend  life,  which  at  best  is  a kind 
of  punishment ; and  at  longest  amounts  to  very  little  more 
than  nothing  1 He  is  ungrateful  that  takes  the  period  of 
pleasure  for  an  injury ; and  he  is  foolish  that  knows  no  good 
but  the  present.  Nay,  there  are  some  courses  of  life  which 
a man  ought  to  quit,  though  with  life  itself,  as  the  trade  of 
killing  others  instead  of  learning  to  die  himself.  Life  itself 
is  neither  good  nor  evil ; but  only  a place  for  good  and  evil ; 
it  is  a kind  of  tragic  comedy.  Let  it  be  w'ell  acted,  and  no 
matter  whether  it  be  long  or  short.  We  are  apt  to  be  mis- 
led by  the  appearances  of  things,  and  when  they  come  to  us, 
recommended  in  good  terms,  and  by  great  example,  they 
will  impose  many  times  upon  very  wise  men.  The  mind 
is  never  right  but  when  it  is  at  peace  within  itself,  and  in- 
dependent upon  any  thing  from  abroad.  The  soul  is  in  hea- 
ven even  while  it  is  in  the  flesh  •;  if  it  be  purged  of  natural 
corruptions,  and  taken  up  with  divine  thoughts,  and  whether 
any  body  sees  us,  or  takes  notice  of  us,  it  matters  not  Vir- 
tue will  of  itself  break  forth,  though  never  so  much  pains 
be  taken  to  suppress  it  And  it  is  all  one  whether  it  be 
2 B 


314 


EPISTLES. 


known  or  not ; but  after  ages,  however,  will  do  us  right 
when  we  are  dead,  and  insensible  of  the  veneration  they 
allow  us.  He  that  is  wise  will  compute  the  conditions  of 
humanity,  and  contract  the  subject  both  of  his  joys  and  fears. 
And  it  is  time  well  spent  so  to  abate  of  the  one  that  he  may 
likewise  diminish  the  other.  By  this  practice  he  will  come 
to  understand  how  short,  how  uncertain,  and  how  safe, 
manj  of  those  things  are  which  we  are  wont  to  fear.  When 
I see  a splendid  house,  or  a glittering  train,  I look  upon  it 
as  I do  upon  courts,  which  are  only  the  schools  of  avarice 
and  ambition ; and  they  are  at  best  but  a pomp,  which  is 
more  for  show  than  possession.  Beside  that,  great  goods 
are  seldom  long-lived ; and  that  is  the  fairest  felicity  which 
is  of  the  shortest  growth. 


EPISTLE  XIX. 

Of  true  courage. 

“Foetitude  is”  properly  “the  contempt  of  all  hazards, 
according  to  reason though  it  be  commonly  and  promis- 
cuously used  also,  “for  a contempt  of  all  hazards,  even 
without  or  against  reason which  is  rather  a daring  and  a 
brutal  fierceness  than  an  honorable  courage.  A brave  man 
fears  nothing  more  than  the  weakness  of  being  affected  with 
popular  glory.  His  eyes  are  not  dazzled  either  with  gold  or 
steel ; he  tramples  upon  all  the  terrors  and  glories  of  For- 
tune; he  looks  upon  himself  as  a citizen  and  soldier  of  the 
world  ; and,  in  despite  of  all  accidents  and  oppositions,  he 
maintains  his  station.  He  does  not  only  suffer,  but  court,  the 
most  perilous  occasionsof virtue,  and  those  adventures  which 
are  most  terrible  to  others;  for  he  values  himself  upon  ex- 
periment, and  is  more  ambitious  of  being  reputed  good  than 
happy.  Mucius  lost  his  hand  with  more  honor  than  he 
could  have  preserved  it : he  was  a greater  conqueror  without 
it  than  he  could  have  been  with  it;  for  with  the  very  stump 
of  it  he  overcame  two  kings,  Tarquin  and  Porsenna.  Rutilia 
followed  Cotta  into  banishment;  she  staid,  and  she  returned 
with  him  too;  and  soon  after  she  lost  him  without  so  much 
as  shedding  a tear : a great  instance  of  her  courage  in  his 


EPISTLES. 


yib 

^banishment,  and  of  her  prudence  in  his  death.  This  (says 
Epicurus)  is  the  last  and  the  blessedest  day  of  my  life,  when 
he  was  ready  to  expire  in  an  extreme  torment  of  the  stone. 
It  is  never  said  of  the  300  Fabii  that  they  were  overcome, 
but  that  they  were  slain;  nor  of  Regulus,  that  he  was 
vanquished  by  the  Carthaginians,  but  that  he  was  taken. 
The  Spartans  prohibited  all  exercises  where  the  victory 
w’as  declared  by  the  voice  and  submission  of  him  that  was 
worsted.  When  Phaeton  begged  of  Phoebus  the  govern- 
ment of  the  chariot  of  the  sun  for  one  day,  the  poets  make 
him  so  far  from  being  discouraged  by  his  father’s  telling 
him  of  the  danger  of  the  undertaking,  and  how  he  himself 
had  much  ado  to  keep  his  seat  for  fear,  when  he  looked 
down  from  the  meridian,  that  it  proved  a spur  to  his  im- 
portunity. “ That  is  the  thing,”  says  Phaeton,  “ that  I would 
be  at ; to  stand  firm  in  that  difiiculty  where  Phoebus  himself 
trembles.”  Security  is  the  caution  of  narrow  minds;  but  as 
fire  tries  gold,  so  does  difficulty  and  hazard  try  virtuous  men. 
Not  but  that  he  may  be  as  valiant  that  watches  upon  the 
tower  as  he  that  fights  upon  his  knees ; only  the  one  has 
had  the  good  fortune  of  an  occasion  for  the  proof  of  his 
resolution.  As  some  creatures  are  cruel,  others  crafty,  and 
some  timorous ; so  man  is  endued  with  a glorious  and  an 
excellent  spirit,  that  prompts  him  not  so  much  to  regard  a 
safe  life  as  an  honest.  Providence  has  made  him  the  master 
of  this  lower  world,  and  he  reckons  it  his  duty  to  sacrifice 
his  own  particular  to  the  advantage  of  the  whole.  And  yet 
there  is  a vast  difference  even  in  the  same  action  done  by  a 
brave  person  and  by  a stupid ; as  the  death  of  Cato  was 
honorable,  but  that  of  Brutus  was  shameful.  Nor  is  it  death 
itself  that  we  recommend  for  glorious ; but  it  is  a glorious 
thing  to  die  as  we  ought.  Neither  is  it  poverty,  banishment, 
or  pain,  that  we  commend ; but  the  man  that  behaves  him- 
self bravely  under  those  afifictions.  How  were  the  gladia- 
tors contemned  that  called  for  quarter,  and  those  on  the 
other  side  favored  that  despised  it ! Many  a man  saves  his 
life  by  not  fearing  to  lose  it;  and  many  a man  loses  his  life 
by  being  over-solicitous  to  save  it.  We  are  muny  times 
afraid  of  dying  by  one  thing,  and  we  corne  to  die  \ y another 
As  for  example,  we  are  threatened  by  an  enemy  and  we 
die  by  a pleurisy.  The  fear  of  death  enlarges  all  other 
things  that  we  fear.  To  bear  it  with  constancy,  we  should 
compute,  that  whether  our  lives  be  long  or  short,  it  comes 
all  to  a point ; some  hours  we  lose ; wl.at  if  they  \/ere  days. 


31(i 


EPISTLES. 


months,  years'!  what  matters  it,  if  I never  arrive  at  thai- 
which  I must  certainly  part  with  when  I have  it]  Life  is 
but  one  point  of  flying  time,  and  that  which  is  to  come  is  no 
more  mine  than  that  which  is  past.  And  we  have  -this  for 
our  comfort  too,  that  whosoever  now  fears  death,  will  some 
time  or  otlier  come  to  wish  it.  If  death  be  troublesome  or 
terrible,  the  fault  is  in  us,  and  not  in  death  itself.  It  is  as 
great  madness  for  a man  to  fear  that  which  he  is  not  to  feel, 
as  that  which  he  is  not  to  suffer ; the  difference  lies  in  the 
manner  of  dying,  and  not  in  the  issue  of  death  itself.  It 
was  a more  inglorious  death  to  be  smothered  with  perfume 
than  to  be  torn  to  pieces  with  pincers.  Provided  my  mind 
be  not  sick,  I shall  not  much  heed  my  body.  I am  prepared 
for  my  last  hour,  without  tormenting  myself  when  it  will 
come.  It  is  betwixt  the  Stoics  and  other  philosophers,  as 
betwixt  men  and  women ; they  are  both  equally  necessary 
for  society ; only  the  one  is  born  for  government,  and  the 
other  for  subjection.  Otlier  sects  deal  with  their  disciples 
as  plausible  physicians  do  with  their  patients;  they  flatter 
and  humor  them ; whereas  the  Stoics  go  a bolder  way  to 
work,  and  consider  rather  their  profit  than  their  pleasure. 


EPISTLE  XX. 

It  is  never  too  late  to  learn.  The  advantages  of  a private 
life,  and  the  slavery  of  a public.  The  ends  of  punish- 
ments. 

Let  no  man  presume  to  advise  others,  that  has  not  first 
given  good  counsel  to  himself,  and  he  may  then  pretend  to 
help  his  neighbor.  It  is,  in  short,  as  hard  a matter  to  give 
good  counsel  as  to  take  it ; let  it,  however,  be  agreed  be- 
twixt the  two  parties,  that  the  one  designs  to  confer  a 
benefit,  and  the  other  to  receive  it.  Some  people  scorn  to 
be  taught ; others  are  ashamed  of  it,  as  they  would  be  of 
going  to  school  when  they  are  old  ; but  it  is  never  too  late 
to  learn  what  it  is  always  necessary  to  know  ; and  it  is  no 
.shaijie  to  learn  so  long  as  we  are  ignorant,  that  is  to  say,  so 
lOng  as  we  live.  When  any  thing  is  amiss  in  our  bodies  or 
estates,  we  have  recourse  presently  to  the  physician  or  the 
’avvyer  for  help ; and  why  not  to  the  philosopher  in  the  dis- 


EPISTLES. 


317 


orders  of  our  mindl  No  man  lives  but  he  that  applie.s  nim- 
self  to  wisdom;  for  he  takes  into  his  own  life  the  supple- 
ment of  all  past  ages.  It  is  a fair  step  toward  happiness  and 
virtue,  to  delight  in  the  conversation  of  good  and  of  wise  men , 
and  where  that  cannot  be  had,  the  next  point  i".  to  keep 
no  company  at  all.  Solitude  affords  business  en-'ugll,  and 
the  entertainment  is  comfortable  and  e.asy;  wheieas  public 
offices  are  vexatious  and  restless.  There  is  a great  difference 
betwixt  a life  of  leisure  and  of  lazinoss.  When  people  will 
express  their  envy  of  a man  in  a happy  condition,  they  will 
say,  “He  lives  at  his  ease when  in  truth  the  man  is  dead 
alive.  There  is  a long  life,  and  there  is  a long  death ; the 
former  when  we  enjoy  the  benefits  of  a right  mind,  and 
the  other  when  the  senses  are  extinguished,  and  the  body 
dead  beforehand.  He  that  makes  me  the  master  of  my  own 
time,  and  places  me  in  a state  of  freedom,  lays  a great 
obligation  upon  me.  As  a merchant  that  has  a considerable 
fortune  abroad,  is  more  sensible  of  the  blessing  of  a fair 
wind  and  safe  passage,  than  he  that  has  only  ballast  or  some 
coarse  commodity  in  the  vessel ; so  that  man  that  employs 
his  privacy  upon  thoughts  divine  and  precious,  is  more 
sensible  of  the  comfort  of  that  freedom  than  he  that  bends 
his  meditation  an  ill  way.  For  he  considers  all  the  benefits 
of  his  exemption  from  common  duties,  he  enjoys  himself 
with  infinite  delight,  and  makes  his  gratitude  answerable  to 
his  obligations.  He  is  the  best  of  subjects,  and  the  happiest 
of  men  ; and  he  lives  to  Nature  and  to  himself.  Most  men 
are  to  themselves  the  worst  company  they  can  keep.  If  they 
be  good,  quiet,  and  temperate,  they  are  as  good  alone  as  in 
company : but  if  otherwise,  let  them  converse  with  others, 
and  avoid  themselves;  but  he  that  has  made  himself  good 
company,  can  never  be  too  much  alone.  Many  a ship  is 
lost  in  the  harbor,  but  more  in  the  ocean;  as  many  an 
honest  man  is  condemned,  but  more  guilty.  This,  however, 
is  certain,  he  that  cannot  secure  himself  in  privacy,  shall 
be  much  more  exposed  in  public.  That  which  the  world 
calls  felicity  is  greedy  itself,  and  exjxised  to  the  greediness 
of  others.  Prosperity,  like  a fair  gale  upon  a strong  current, 
carries  a man  in  a trice  out  of  the  very  sight  of  peace  and 
quiet ; and  if  it  be  not  tempered  and  regulated,  it  is  so  fa* 
from  easing  us,  that  it  proves  an  oppression  to  us.  A busy 
and  a fortunate  man  in  the  world,  calls  many  men  his 
friends,  that  are  at  most  but  his  guests.  And  if  people  flock 
2B2 


318 


EPISTLES. 


to  him,  it  is  but  as  they  do  to  a fountain,  which  they  both 
exhaust  and  trouble. 

What  greater  slavery  can  there  be  than  that  of  princes 
in  this  very  respect,  that  they  are  chained  to  their  post,  and 
cannot  make  themselves  less!  All  their  words  and  actions 
are  descanted  upon,  and  made  public  discourse ; and  there 
are  many  things  allowable  to  a private  man  that  are  not  fit 
for  a governor.  I can  walk  alone,  where  I please,  without 
a sword,  without  fear,  and  without  company ; whereas  a 
prince  must  be  armed  in  peace,  and  cannot  with  dignity 
quit  his  guards.  Fortune  has  him  in  custody  : a train  besets 
him  wherever  he  goes,  and  there  is  no  making  of  any 
escape.  He  is  little  better  than  nailed  to  his  place,  and  it 
is  the  perfection  of  his  misery  that  he  cannot  go  less.  He  can 
no  more  conceal  himself  than  the  sun  in  the  firmament: 
whereas  his  subjects  may  go  and  come,  change  habits  and 
humor,  without  being  taken  notice  of.  Servitude  is  the  fate 
of  palaces,  the  splendor  of  a crown  draws  all  men’s  eyes 
upon  it.  When  Caesar  speaks,  the  whole  world  bears  his 
voice,  and  trembles  at  his  displeasure;  and  where  it  falls, 
it  shakes  whatsoever  is  near  it.  His  lips  are  the  oracles  of 
the  people,  and  government  is  the  cement  that  binds  them 
together ; but  still  he  that  is  master  of  many  is  the  servant 
yet  of  more.  The  power,  it  is  true,  of  all  things  belongs  to  the 
prince,  but  the  property  to  particular  persons ; and  the  same 
thing  may  be  both  yours  and  mine  in  several  respects.  We 
cannot  say  that  a son  or  a servant  has  nothing,  because  a 
master  or  a father  may  take  it  away  if  he  will ; or  that  he 
cannot  give  willingly,  because  they  may  hinder  it,  whether 
he  will  or  not.  “This  is  power  and  true  dominion;  and 
not  to  rule  and  command,  when  we  may  do  it  when  we 
please.”  The  strength  of  a prince  is  in  the  love  of  his  people ; 
for  there  is  nothing  so  great  but  it  must  itself  perish,  when 
it  is  become  the  common  safety  that  it  should  be  so.  Tyrants 
are  hated  because  they  are  feared : and  because  they  are 
hated,  they  will  be  feared.  They  are  rendered  odious  to 
Dosterity,  and  they  had  better  never  been  born,  than  to 
stand  upon  record  for  the  plagues  of  mankind.  Miserable 
is  that  people  where  their  very  keepers  are  their  execu- 
tioners. And  it  is  not  an  armed  tyranny  neither,  but  the 
unarmed  vices  of  avarice  and  envy,  that  we  ought  to  be  most 
afraid  of  Some  will  not  endure  to  have  their  vices  touched, 
but  will  shrink  and  struggle  under  the  operation,  as  if  they 
were  under  the  hand  of  a surgeon.  But  this  shall  not 


EPISTLES. 


SI  9 


hinder  me  from  lancing  and  probing,  because  of  tlie  cries 
and  groans  of  the  patient.  Every  man  should  have  a moni- 
tor  at  his  elbow  to  keep  him  from  avarice,  by  showing  him 
liow  rich  a man  may  be  with  a little : from  ambition,  by 
representing  the  disquiets  and  hazards  that  accompany 
greatness ; which  makes  him  as  great  a burden  to  others  as 
he  is  to  himself.  When  it  comes  to  that  once,  fear,  anxiety, 
and  weariness,  make  us  philosophers.  A sickly  fortune 
produces  wholesome  counsels;  and  we  reap  this  fruit  from 
our  adversity,  that  it  brings  us  at  last  to  wisdom 

Now,  though  clemency  in  a prince  be  so  necessary  and 
so  profitable  a virtue,  and  cruelty  so  dangerous  an  excess; 
it  is  yet  the  office  of  a governor,  as  of  the  master  of  an 
hospital,  to  keep  sick  and  mad  men  in  order,  and  in  cases  of 
extremity,  the  very  member  is  to  be  cut  off  with  the  ulcer. 
All  punishment  is  either  for  amendment  or  for  example,  or 
that  others  may  live  more  secure.  What  is  the  end  of 
destroying  those  poisonous  and  dangerous  creatures,  which 
are  never  to  be  reclaimed,  but  to  prevent  mischief]  And 
yet  there  may  be  as  much  hazard  in  doing  too  much  as  too 
little.  A particular  mutineer  may  be  punished,  but  when 
the  whole  army  is  in  a revolt,  there  must  be  a general  par- 
don. The  multitude  of  offenders  is  their  security  and 
protection ; for  there  is  no  quarrelling  with  a public  vice, 
where  the  custom  of  offending  takes  away  the  shame  of  it ; 
and  it  is  not  prudent  neither,  by  many  punishments,  to  show 
a city  that  the  wicked  are  so  much  the  major  part:  beside, 
that  it  is  as  great  a dishonor  for  a prince  to  have  many 
executions,  as  for  a physician  to  have  many  funerals.  Shall 
a father  disinherit  a son  for  the  first  offence?  Let  him  first 
admonish,  then  threaten,  and  afterward  punish  him.  So 
long  as  there  is  hope,  we  should  apply  gentle  remedies; 
but  some  nations  are  intractable,  and  neither  willing  to 
serve,  nor  fit  to  command ; and  some  persons  are  incur 
rigible  toa 


320 


EPISTLES. 


EPISTLE  XXI. 

The  two  blessings  of  life  are  a sound  body  and.  a quiet 
mind.  The  extravagance  of  the  Roman  luxury:  the 
moderation  and  simplicity  of  former  times 

Epicures  makes  the  two  blessings  of  life  to  be  a sound 
body  and  a quiet  mind;  which  is  only  a compendious  reduc- 
tion of  human  felicity  to  a state  of  health  and  of  virtue. 
The  way  to  be  happy  is  to  make  vice  not  only  odious,  but 
ridiculous,  and  every  man  to  mind  his  own  business;  for  he 
that  torments  himself  for  other  people’s  misfortunes  shall 
never  be  at  rest.  A virtuous  life  must  be  all  of  a piece,  and 
not  advanced  by  starts  and  intervals,  and  then  to  go  on 
where  it  left;  for,  this  is  losing  of  ground.  We  are  to 
press  and  persevere ; for  the  main  difficulties  are  yet  to 
come.  If  I discontinue  my  course,  when  shall  I come  to 
pronounce  these  words  1 I am  a conqueror.  Not  a conqueror 
of  barbarous  enemies  and  savage  nations;  but  I have  sub- 
dued avarice,  ambition,  and  those  lusts  that  have  subjected 
even  the  greatest  of  conquerors.  Who  was  a greater  than 
Alexander,  that  extended  his  empire  from  Thracia  to  the 
utmost  bounds  of  the  East]  but  yet  he  burnt  Persepolis  at 
the  request  of  a prostitute,  to  gratify  his  lust.  He  overcame 
Darius,  and  slew  many  thousands  of  the  Persians;  but  yet 
he  murdered  Calisthenes,  and  that  single  blot  has  tarnished 
the  glory  of  all  his  victories.  All  the  wishes  of  mortals, 
and  all  the  benefits  which  we  can  either  give  or  receive, 
are  of  very  little  conducement  to  a happy  life.  Those 
things  which  the  common  people  gape  after,  are  transitory 
and  vain ; whereas  happiness  is  permanent:  nor  is  it  to  be 
estimated  by  number,  measure,  or  parts;  for  it  is  full  and 
perfect.  I do  not  speak  as  if  I myself  were  arrived  at  that 
blessed  state  of  repose ; but  it  is  something  yet  to  be  on  the  ■ 
mending  hand.  It  is  with  me  as  with  a man  that  is  creep- 
ing out  of  a disease ; he  feels  yet  some  grudgings  of  it,  he 
is  every  foot  examining  of  his  pulse,  and  suspects  every 
touch  of  heat  to  be  a relic  of  his  fever.  Just  at  that 
rate  I am  jealous  of  myself.  The  best  remedy  that  I know 
*n  this  case  is  to  go  on  with  confidence,  and  not  to  be 
misled  by  the  errors  of  other  people.  It  is  with  our  man- 
ners as  with  our  healths;  it  is  a degree  of  virtue,  the 


EPISTLES.  321 

aoatement  of  vice,  as  it  is  a degree  of  health,  the  abatement 
of  a fit. 

Some  place  their  happiness  in  wealth,  some  in  the  liberty 
of  the  body,  and  others  in  the  pleasures  of  the  sense  and 
palate.  But  what  are  metals,  tastes,  sounds,  or  colors,  to 
the  mind  of  a reasonable  creature  1 He  that  sets  his  heart 
ujion  riches,  the  very  fear  of  poverty  will  be  grievous  to 
him ; he  that  is  ambitious,  shall  be  galled  with  envy  at  any 
man  that  gets  before  him : for,  in  that  case,  he  that  is  not 
first  is  last.  I do  not  speak  against  riches  neither ; for  if 
they  hurt  a man,  it  is  his  own  folly.  They  may  be  indeed 
the  cause  of  mischief,  as  they  are  a temptation  to  those  that 
do  it.  Instead  of  courage,  they  may  inspire  us  with  arro- 
gance ; and  instead  of  greatness  of  mind,  with  insolence ; 
which  is  in  truth  but  the  counterfeit  of  magnanimity.  What 
IS  it  to  be  a prisoner,  and  in  chains  1 It  is  no  more  than  that 
condition  to  which  many  princes  have  been  reduced,  and  out 
ot  which  many  men  have  been  advanced  to  the  authority  of 
princes.  It  is  not  to  say,  “ I have  no  master in  time  you 
may  have  one.  Might  not  Hecuba,  Croesus,  and  the  mother 
>f  Darius,  have  said  as  much  1 And  where  is  the  happiness 
of  luxury  either  when  a man  divides  his  life  betwixt  the 
kitchen  and  the  stews ; betwixt  an  anxious  conscience  and 
nauseous  stomachi  Caligula,  who  was  born  to  show  the 
world  what  mischief  might  be  done  by  concurrence  of  great 
wickedness  and  a great  fortune,  spent  near  j£10,000  sterling 
upon  a supper.  The  works  and  inventions  of  it  are  prodi- 
gious, not  only  in  the  counterfeiting  of  nature,  but  even  in 
surpassing  it.  The  Romans  had  their  brooks  even  in  their 
parlors;  and  found  their  dinners  under  their  tables.  The 
mullet  was  reckoned  stale  unless  it  died  in  the  hand  of  the 
guest : and  they  had  their  glasses  to  put  them  into,  that  they 
might  the  better  observe  all  the  changes  and  motions  of  them 
in  the  last  agony  betwixt  life  and  death.  So  that  they  fed 
their  eyes  before  their  bodies.  “Look  how  it  reddens,”  says 
one ; “ there  is  no  vermilion  like  it.  Take  notice  of  these 
veins;  and  that  same  gray  brightens  upon  the  head  of  it. 
And  now  he  is  at  his  last  gasp:  see  how  pale  he  turns,  and 
all  of  a color.”  These  people  would  not  have  given  them- 
selves half  this  trouble  with  a dying  friend  ; nay,  they  would 
leave  a father  or  a brother  at  his  last  hour  to  entertain  them 
selves  with  the  barbarous  spectacle  of  an  expiring  fish.  And 
that  which  enhances  the  esteem  of  every  thing,  is  the  price 
•jf  it:  insomuch  that  water  itself,  which  ought  to  ue  gratui 


322 


EPISTLES. 


tous,  is  exposed  to  sale  in  their  conservatories  of  ice  ana 
snow.  Nay,  we  are  troubled  that  we  cannot  buy  breath, 
light,  and  that  we  have  the  air  itself  gratis,  as  if  our  con- 
ditions were  evil  because  Nature  has  left  something  to  us 
in  common.  But  luxury  contrives  ways  to  set  a price  upon 
the  most  necessary  and  communicable  benefits  in  nature  : 
even  those  benefits  which  are  free  to  birds  and  beasts,  as 
well  as  to  men,  and  serve  indifferently  for  the  use  of  the 
most  sluggish  creatures.  But  how  comes  it  that  fountain- 
water  is  not  cold  enough  to  serve  us,  unless  it  be  bound  up 
into  ice  ] So  long  as  the  stomach  is  sound.  Nature  discharges 
her  functions  without  trouble;  but  when  the  blood  comes 
to  be  inflamed  with  excess  of  wine  or  meats,  simple  water 
is  not  cold  enough  to  allay  that  heat;  and  we  are  forced  to 
make  use  of  remedies;  winch  remedies  themselvesare  vices. 
We  heap  suppers  upon  dinners,  and  dinners  upon  suppers, 
without  intermission.  Good  God  ! how  easy  is  it  to  quench 
a sound  and  an  honest  thirst ! But  when  the  palate  is  grown 
callous,  we  taste  nothing;  and  that  which  we  take  for  thirst, 
is  only  the  rage  of  a fever.  Hippocratus  delivered  it  as  an 
aphorism,  that  “ women  were  never  bald  nor  gouty,  but  in 
one  singular  case.”  Women  have  not  altered  their  nature 
since,  but  they  have  changed  the  course  of  their  lives;  for, 
by  taking  the  liberties  of  men,  they  partake  as  well  of  their 
diseases  as  of  their  wickedness.  They  sit  up  as  much,  drink 
as  much ; nay,  in  their  very  appetites  they  are  masculine 
too ; they  have  lost  the  advantages  of  their  sex  by  their 
vices. 

Our  ancestors,  when  they  were  free,  lived  either  in  caves 
or  in  arbors;  but  slavery  came  in  with  gildings  and  with 
marble.  I would  have  him  that  comes  into  my  house  take 
more  notice  of  the  master  than  of  the  furniture.  The  golden 
age  was  before  architecture : arts  came  in  with  luxury,  and 
we  do  not  hear  of  any  philosopher  that  was  either  a lock- 
smith or  a painter.  Who  was  the  wiser  man,  think  you, 
he  that  invented  a saw,  or  the  other  who,  upon  seeing  a boy 
drink  water  out  of  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  brake  his  pitcher, 
with  this  check  to  himself;  “ What  a fool  am  I,  to  trouble 
myself  with  superfluities!”  Carving  is  one  man’s  trade, 
cooking  is  another’s ; only  he  is  more  tniserable  that  teaches 
it  for  pleasure  than  he  that  learns  it  for  necessity.  It  was 
luxury,  not  philosophy,  that  invented  fish-pools  as  well  as 
palaces;  where,  in  case  of  foul  weather  at  sea,  they  might 
have  fishes  to  supply  their  gluttony  in  harbor.  We  do  not 


EPISTLES. 


323 


only  pamper  our  lusts,  but  provoke  them ; as  if  we  were  to 
learn  the  very  art  of  voluptuousness.  What  was  it  but 
avarice  that  originally  brake  the  union  of  society,  and 
proved  the  cause  of  poverty,  even  to  those  that  were  the 
most  wealthy!  Every  man  possessed  all,  until  the  world 
came  to  appropriate  possessions  to  themselves.  In  the  first 
age  Nature  was  both  a law  and  a guide,  and  the  best 
governed ; which  was  but  according  to  Nature  too.  The 
largest  and  the  strongest  bull  leads  the  herd  ; the  goodliest 
elephant ; and  among  men  too,  in  the  blessed  times  of  in- 
nocence, the  best  was  uppermost.  They  chose  governors 
for  their  manners,  who  neither  acted  any  violence  nor  suf- 
fered any.  They  protected  the  weak  against  the  mighty; 
and  persuaded  or  dissuaded  as  they  saw  occasion.  Their 
prudence  provided  for  their  people;  their  courage  kept 
them  safe  from  dangers;  their  bounty  both  supplied  and 
adorned  their  subjects.  It  was  a duty  then  to  command,  not 
a government.  No  man  in  those  days  had  either  a mind  to 
do  an  injury  or  a cause  for  it.  He  that  commanded  well 
was  well  obeyed  ; and  the  worst  menace  the  governors  could 
then  make  to  the  disobedient,  v/as  to  forsake  them.  But 
with  the  corruption  of  times,  tyranny  crept  in,  and  the 
world  began  to  have  need  of  laws;  and  those  laws  were 
made  by  wise  men  too,  as  Solon  and  Lycurgus,  who  learned 
their  trade  in  the  school  of  Pythagoras. 


EPISTLE  XXII. 

Man  is  compounded  of  soul  and  body;  and  has  naturally 
a civil  war  within  himself.  The  difference  betwixt  a life 
of  virtue  and  a life  of  pleasure. 

There  is  not  so  disproportionate  a mixture  in  any 
creature  as  that  is  in  man,  of  soul  and  body.  There  is  in- 
temperance joined  with  divinity,  folly  with  severity,  slot! 
with  activity,  and  uncleanness  with  purity : but  a good 
sword  is  never  the  worse  for  an  ill  scabbard.  We  are 
moved  more  by  imaginary  fears  than  truths ; for  truth  has 
a certainty  and  foundation ; but,  in  the  other,  we  are  exposed 
to  the  license  and  conjecture  of  a distracted  mind ; and  our 
e iemies  are  not  more  imperious  than  our  pleasures.  We 


324 


EPISTLES. 


set  Gur  hearts  upon  transitory  things,  as  if  they  themselves 
were  everlasting;  or  we,  on  the  other  side,  to  possess  them 
for  ever.  Why  do  we  not  rather  advance  our  thoughts  to 
things  that  are  eternal,  and  contemplate  the  heavenly 
original  of  all  beings'?  Why  do  we  not,  by  the  divinity  of 
reason,  triumph  over  the  weakness  of  flesh  and  blood  ? It  is 
by  Providence  that  the  world  is  preserved,  and  not  from  any 
virtue  in  the  matter  of  it ; for  the  world  is  as  mortal  as  we 
are : only  the  almighty  Wisdom  carries  it  safe  through  all 
tlie  motions  of  corruption.  And  so  by  prudence  human  life 
itself  may  be  prolonged,  if  we  will  but  stint  ourselves  in 
those  pleasures  that  bring  the  greater  part  of  us  untimely 
to  our  end.  Our  passions  are  nothing  else  but  certain  dis- 
allowable  motions  of  the  mind  ; sudden  and  eager ; which, 
by  frequency  and  neglect,  turn  to  a disease ; as  a distilla- 
tion brings  us  first  to  a cough,  and  then  to  a phthisic.  We 
are  carried  up  to  the  heavens  and  down  again  into  the  deep 
by  turns,  so  long  as  we  are  governed  by  our  affections,  and 
not  by  virtue ; passion  and  reason  are  a kind  of  civil  war 
within  us;  and  as  the  one  or  the  other  has  dominion,  we 
are  either  good  or  bad.  So  that  it  should  be  our  care  that 
the  worst  mixture  may  not  prevail.  And  they  are  linked, 
like  the  chain  of  causes  and  effects,  one  to  another.  Betwixt 
violent  passion  and  a fluctuation  or  wambling  of  the  mind, 
there  is  such  a difference  as  betwixt  the  agitation  of  a storm 
and  the  nauseous  sickness  of  a calm.  And  they  have  all 
of  them  their  symptoms  too,  as  well  as  our  bodily  dis- 
tempers: they  that  are  troubled  with  the  falling  sickness, 
know  when  the  fit  is  coming,  by  the  cold  of  the  extreme 
parts,  the  dazzling  of  the  eyes ; the  failing  of  the  memory, 
the  trembling  of  the  nerves,  and  the  giddiness  of  the  head ; 
so  that  every  man  knows  his  own  disease,  and  should  pro- 
vide against  it.  Anger,  love,  sadness,  fear,  may  be  read  in 
the  countenance,  and  so  may  the  virtues  too.  Fortitude 
makes  the  eye  vigorous,  prudence  makes  it  intent,  reverence 
shows  itself  in  modesty,  joy  in  serenity,  and  truth  in  open- 
ness and  simplicity.  There  are  sown  the  seeds  of  divine 
things  in  mortal  bodies.  If  the  mind  be  well  cultivated,  the 
fruit  answers  the  original ; and  if  not,  all  runs  into  weeds. 
We  are  all  of  us  sick  of  curable  diseases:  and  it  costs  us 
more  to  be  miserable  than  would  make  us  perfectly  happy. 
Consider  the  peaceable  state  of  clemency  and  the  turbu- 
lence of  anger ; the  softness  and  quiet  of  modesty  and  the 
restlessness  of  lust.  How  cheap  and  easv  to  us  is  the 


EriSTLES. 


325 


service  of  virtue,  and  how  dear  we  pay  for  our  vices ! The 
sovereign  good  of  man  is  a mind  that  subjects  all  things  to 
itself,  and  is  itself  subject  to  nothing ; his  pleasures  are 
modest,  severe,  and  reserved  ; and  rather  the  sauce  or  the 
diversion  of  life  than  the  entertainment  of  it.  It  may  be 
some  question,  whether  such  a man  goes  to  heaven,  or 
heaven  comes  to  him : for  a good  man  is  influenced  by  God 
himself,  and  has  a kind  of  divinity  within  him.  What  if  one 
good  man  lives  in  pleasure  and  plenty,  and  another  in  want 
and  misery  7 It  is  no  virtue  to  contemn  superfluities,  but 
necessities : and  they  are  both  of  them  equally  good,  though 
under  several  circumstances,  and  in  diflTerent  stations.  Cato 
(the  censor)  waged  war  with  the  manners  of  Rome;  Scipio 
with  the  enemies.  Nay,  bating  the  very  conscience  of  virtue, 
who  is  there  that,  upon  sober  thoughts,  would  not  be  an 
honest  man,  even  for  the  reputation  of  it.  Virtue,  you  shall 
find  in  the  temple,  in  the  field,  or  upon  the  walls,  covered 
with  dust  and  blood,  in  the  defence  of  the  public. . Pleasures 
you  shall  find  sneaking  in  the  stews,  sweating-houses,  pow- 
dered, and  painted,  die.  Not  that  pleasures  are  wholly  to 
be  disclaimed,  but  to  be  used  with  moderation,  and  to  be 
made  subservient  to  virtue.  Good  manners  always  please 
us ; but  wickedness  is  restless,  and  perpetually  changing ; 
not  for  the  better,  but  for  variety.  We  are  torn  to  pieces 
betwixt  hopes  and  fears;  by  which  means  Providence 
(which  is  the  greatest  blessing  of  Heaven)  is  turned  into  a 
mischief.  Wild  beasts,  when  they  see  their  dangers,  fly 
from  them ; and  when  they  have  escaped  them  they  are 
quiet:  but  wretched  man  is  equally  tormented,  both  with 
things  past  and  to  come ; for  the  memory  brings  back  the 
anxiety  of  our  past  fears,  and  our  foresight  anticipates  the 
future;  whereas  the  present  makes  no  man  miserable.  • If 
we  fear  all  things  that  are  possible,  we  live  without  any 
bounds  to  our  miseries.” 


8G 


326 


EPISTLRS. 


EPISTLE  XXIII. 

We  abuse  God's  blessings,  and  turn  them  into  mischiefs. 
Meditations  upon  the  horrors  of  earthquakes,  and  con- 
solations against  them.  Death  is  the  same  thing,  which 
way  soever  it  comes ; only  we  are  more  moved  by  acci- 
dents that  we  are  not  used  to. 

There  is  notliing  so  profitable  but  it  may  be  perverted  to 
an  injury.  Without  the  use  of  the  winds,  how  should  we 
do  for  commerce  1 Beside  that,  they  keep  the  air  sweet  and 
healthful,  and  bring  seasonable  rains  upon  the  earth.  It  was 
never  the  intent  of  Providence  that  they  should  be  em- 
ployed for  war  and  devastation ; and  yet  that  is  a great  part 
of  the  use  we  make  of  them  ; pursuing  one  hazard  through 
another.  We  expose  ourselves  to  tempests  and  to  death, 
without  so  much  as  the  hope  of  a sepulchre.  And  all  this 
might  be  borne  too,  if  we  only  ran  these  risks  in  order  to 
peace ; but  when  we  have  escaped  so  many  rocks  and  flats, 
thunder  and  storms,  what  is  the  fruit  of  all  our  labor  and 
terror!  It  is  only  war;  to  burn  and  ravage,  as  if  the  earth 
were  not  large  enough  for  the  scene  of  our  destruction ; 
whereas  we  might  live  and  die  at  ease,  if  we  had  a mind  to 
It ; and  draw  out  our  lives  in  security.  Why  do  we  press  our 
own  dangers  then,  and  provoke  our  fates?  What  do  we 
took  for?  only  death;  which  is  to  be  found  everywhere.  It 
will  find  us  in  our  beds,  in  our  chambers ; but  wheresoever 
»t  finds  us,  let  it  find  us  innocent.  What  a madness  is  it 
to  pursue  mischief;  to  fall  foul  upon  those  we  do  not  know ; 
to  be  angry  without  a cause ; to  overrun  whatsoever  is 
in  our  way;  and,  like  beasts,  to  kill  what  we  have  no 
quarrel  to?  Nay,  worse  than  beasts,  we  run  great  hazards 
only  to  bring  us  to  greater.  We  force  our  way  to  gold 
without  any  regard  either  to  God  or  man.  But  in  all  this, 
without  any  cause  of  complaint,  we  abuse  the  benefits  of  God, 
and  turn  them  all  into  mischiefs.  We  dig  for  gold  ; we  leave 
the  light,  and  abandon  the  courses  of  a better  nature : we 
descend  where  we  find  a new  position  of  things;  hideous 
caves,  hollow' and  hanging  rocks,  horrid  rivers,  a deep  and 
perpetual  darkness,  and  not  without  the  apprehension  even 
of  hell  itself.  How  little  now,  and  how  inconsiderable,  are 
those  things  that  men  venture  for  with  the  price  of  their  lives  ■’ 


EPISTLES;  327 

Brit  to  pass  from  those  hazards  that  we  may  avoid  to  otliers 
which  we  cannot:  as  in  the  case  of  earthquakes. 

In  what  condition  can  any  man  be  safe  when  the  world 
itself  is  shaken,  and  the  only  thing  that  passes  for  fixed  and 
unmovable  in  the  universe  trembles  and  deceives  us  I 
Whither  shall  we  fly  for  security,  if,  wheresoever  we  are, 
the  danger  be  still  under  our  feet.  Upon  the  cracking  of 
a house  every  man  takes  himself  to  his  heels  and  leaves  all 
to  save  himself ; but  what  retreat  is  there  where  that  which 
should  support  us  fails  us ; when  the  foundation  not  only  of 
cities,  but  even  of  the  world  itself,  opens  and  wavers  1 
What  help,  or  what  comfort,  where  fear  itself  can  never 
carry  us  off!  An  enemy  may  be  kept  at  a distance  with  a 
wall ; a castle  may  put  a stop  to  an  army ; a port  may 
protect  us  from  the  fury  of  a tempest ; fire  itself  does  not 
follow  him  that  runs  away  from  it:  a vault  may  defend  us 
against  thunder;  and  we  may  quit  the  place  in  a pestilence; 
there  is  some  remedy  in  all  these  evils;  or,  however,  no 
man  ever  knew  a whole  nation  destroyed  with  lightning. 
A plague  may  unpeople  a town,  but  it  will  not  carry  it 
away.  There  is  no  evil  of  such  an  extent,  so  inevitable,  so 
greedy,  and  so  publicly  calamitous,  as  an  earthquake ; for 
it  does  not  only  devour  houses,  families,  or  single  towns, 
but  ruins  whole  countries  and  nations,  either  overturning 
or  swallowing  them  up,  without  so  much  as  leaving  any 
footstep  or  mark  of  what  they  were.  Some  people  have  a 
greater  horror  for  this  death  than  for  any  other:  “to  be 
taken  away  alive  out  of  the  number  of  the  living!”  As  if 
all  mortals,  by  what  means  soever,  were  not  to  come  to  the 
same  end.  Nature  has  eminently  this  justice,  that  when 
we  are  all  dead  we  are  all  alike.  And  it  is  not  a pin  matter 
whether  I be  crushed  to  pieces  by  one  stone  or  by  a w'hole 
mountain;  whether  I perish  by  the  fall  of  a house  or  under 
the  burden  of  the  whole  earth ; whether  I be  swallowed  up 
alone  or  with  a thousand  more  for  company.  What  does  it 
signify  to  me  the  noise  and  discourse  that  is  made  about  my 
death,  when  death  is  everywhere,  and  in  all  cases,  the 
samel  We  should  therefore  arm  ourselves  against  that 
blow  that  can  neither  be  avoided  nor  foreseen.  And  it  is 
not  the  forswearing  of  those  places  that  we  find  infested 
with  earthquakes  that  will  do  our  business , for  there  is  no 
place  that  can  be  warranted  against  them.  What  if  the 
earth  be  not  yet  moved,  it  is  still  movable : for  the  whole 
body  of  it  lies  under  the  same  law,  and  exposed  to  danger; 


328 


EPISTLES. 


only  some  part  at  one  time,  and  some  at  another.  As  it  is 
in  great  cities,  where  all  the  houses  are  subject  to  rum, 
though  they  do  not  all  fall  together ; so  in  the  body  of  the 
earth ; now  this  part  falls,  and  then  that.  Tyre  was  for- 
merly subject  to  earthquakes;  in  Asia  twelve  cities  were 
swallowed  up  in  a night;  Achaia  and  Macedonia  have  had 
their  turns,  and  now  Campagnia.  The  fate  goes  round,  and 
strikes  at  last  where  it  has  a great  while  passed  by.  It  falls 
out  oflener,  it  is  true,  in  some  places  than  in  others,  but  no 
place  is  totally  free  and  exempt.  And  it  is  not  only  men, 
but  cities,  coasts;  nay,  the  shores,  and  the  very  sea  itself, 
that  suffers  under  the  dominion  of  Fate.  And  yet  we  are 
so  vain  as  to  promise  ourselves  some  sort  of  assurance  in 
the  goods  of  Fortune,  never  considering,  that  the  very 
ground  we  stand  upon  is  unstable.  And  it  is  not  the  frailty 
of  this  or  that  place,  but  the  quality  of  every  spot  of  it:  for 
not  one  inch  of  it  is  so  compacted  as  not  to  admit  many 
causes  of  its  revolution  ; and  though  the  bulk  of  the  earth 
remain  entire,  the  parts  of  it  may  yet  be  broken. 

There  is  not  any  thing  which  can  promise  to  itself  a 
lasting  quiet ; and  it  is  no  small  comfort  to  us,  the  certainty 
of  our.  fate : for  it  is  a folly  to  fear  where  there  is  a remedy. 
He  that  troubles  himself  sooner  than  he  needs,  grieves  more 
also  than  is  necessary ; for  the  same  weakness  that  makes 
him  anticipate  his  misery,  makes  him  enlarge  it  too.  The 
wise  fortify  themselves  by  reason,  and  fools  by  despair. 
That  saying  which  was  applied  to  a conquered  party  under 
fire  and  sword,  might  have  been  spoken  to  all  mankind, 
“That  man  is  in  some  sense  out  of  danger  that  is  out  of 
hope.”  He  that  would  fear  nothing  should  consider,  that  if 
he  fear  any  thing,  he  must  fear  every  thing.  Our  very  meat 
and  drink,  sleeping  and  waking,  without  measure,  are  hurt- 
ful to  us.  Our  bodies  are  nice  and  weak;  and  a small  mat- 
ter does  their  work.  That  man  has  too  high  an  opinion  of 
himself  that  is  only  afraid  of  thunder  and  of  earthquakes. 
If  he  were  conscious  of  his  own  infirmities,  he  would  as 
much  fear  the  being  choked  with  his  own  phlegm.  What 
do  we  see  in  ourselves  that  heaven  and  earth  should  join 
in  a distemper  to  procure  our  dissolution,  when  the  rip()ing 
of  a hang-nail  is  sufficient  to  dispatch  us?  We  are  afraid 
of  inundations  from  the  sea,  when  a glass  of  wine,  if  it  go 
the  wrong  way,  is  enough  to  suffocate  us.  It  is  a great 
comfort  in  death,  the  very  mortality  itself  We  creep  under 
ground  for  fear  of  thunder,  we  dread  the  sudden  concussions 


EPISTLES. 


329 


of  the  earth,  and  the  rages  of  the  sea,  when  yet  we  carry 
death  in  our  own  veins,  and  it  is  in  hand  in  all  places,  and 
at  all  times.  There  is  nothing  so  little  but  it  is  of  force 
enough  to  bring  us  to  our  last  end  ; nay,  so  far  should  we  be 
from  dreading  an  eminent  fate  more  than  a vulgar,  that,  on  the 
contrary,  since  die  we  must,  we  should  rather  rejoice  in  the 
breathing  of  our  last  under  a more  glorious  circumstance. 
What  if  the  ground  stand  still  within  its  bound,  and  with- 
out any  violence  1 I shall  have  it  over  me  at  last;  and  it  is 
all  one  to  me  whether  I be  laid  under  that,  or  that  lay  itself 
over  me.  “ But  it  is  a terrible  thing  for  the  earth  to  gape, 
and  swallow  a man  up  into  a profound  abyss!”  And  what 
then]  is  death  any  easier  above  ground  1 What  cause  have 
I of  complaint,  if  Nature  will  do  me  the  honor  to  cover  me 
with  part  of  herself!  Since  we  must  fall,  there  is  a dignity 
in  the  very  manner  of  it,  when  the  world  itself  is  shocked 
for  company.  Not  that  I would  wish  for  a public  calamity; 
but  it  is  some  satisfaction  in  my  death  that  I see  the  world 
also  to  be  mortal. 

Neither  are  we  to  take  these  extraordinary  revolutions 
for  divine  judgments : as  if  such  motions  of  the  heavens,  and 
of  the  earth,  were  the  denouncings  of  the  wrath  of  the  Al- 
mighty; but  they  have  their  ordinate  and  their  natural 
causes ; such  as,  in  proportion,  we  have  in  our  own  bodies ; 
and  while  they  seem  to  act  a violence,  they  suffer  it.  But 
yet,  for  want  of  knowing  the  causes  of  things,  they  are 
dreadful  to  us ; and  the  more  so,  because  they  happen  but 
seldom.  “ But  why  are  we  commonly  more  afraid  of  that 
which  wo  are  not  used  to!”  Because  we  look  upon  Nature 
with  our  eyes,  not  with  our  reason  ; rather  computing  what 
she  usually  does  than  what  she  is  able  to  do.  And  we  are 
punished  for  this  negligence  by  taking  those  things  to  which 
we  are  not  wonted  to  be  new  and  prodigious.  The  eclipses 
of  the  sun  and  moon,  blazing  stars  and  meteors,  while  vve 
admire  them  we  fear  them,  and  since  we  fear  them  because 
we  do  not  understand  them,  it  is  worth  our  while  to  study 
them,  that  we  may  no  longer  fear  them.  Why  should  I fear 
a man,  a beast,  an  arrow,  or  a lance,  when  I am  exposed 
to  the  encounter  of  greater  dangers]  We  are  assaulted  by 
the  more  noble  part  of  Nature  itself ; by  the  heavens,  by 
the  seas,  and  the  land.  Our  business  is  therefore  to  defy 
death,  whether  extraordinary  or  common.  No  matter  for 
the  menaces  of  it,  so  long  as  it  asks  no  more  of  us  than  age 
2C2 


330 


EPISTLES. 


itself  will  take  from  us,  and  every  petty  accident  that  be» 
falls  us.  He  that  contemns  death,  what  does  he  care  for 
either  fire  or  water;  the  very  dissolution  of  the  universe'! 
or  if  the  earth  should  open  under  him,  and  show  him  all  the 
secrets  of  the  internal  pit,  he  would  look  down  without 
trouble.  In  the  place  that  we  are  all  of  us  to  go  to,  tlr  ■•e 
are  no  earthquakes  or  thunder-claps,  no  tempestuous  seas, 
neither  war  nor  pestilence.  “ Is  it  a small  matter'!  why  do 
we  fear  it  then!  Is  it  a great  matter!  let  it  rather  once 
fall  upon  us  than  always  hang  over  us.”  Why  should  I 
dread  my  own  end,  when  I know  that  an  end  I must  have, 
and  that  all  created  things  are  limited  ! 


EPISTLE  XXIV. 

A discourse  of  God's  providence  in  the  misfortunes  of  good 

men  in  this  world,  and  in  the  prosperity  of  the  wicked. 

You  are  troubled,  I perceive,  that  your  servant  is  run 
away  from  you ; but  I do  not  hear  yet  that  you  are  either 
robbed,  or  strangled,  or  poisoned,  or  betrayed,  or  accused, 
by  him ; so  that  you  have  escaped  well  in  comparison  with 
your  fellows.  And  why  should  you  complain,  then,  espe- 
cially under  the  protection  of  so  gracious  a Providence,  as  suf- 
fers no  man  to  be  miserable  but  by  his  own  fault!  Nor  is  this 
a subject  worthy  of  a wise  man’s  consideration.  Adversity 
indeed  is  a terrible  thing,  in  sound  and  opinion,  and  that  is 
all.  Some  men  are  banished  and  stript  of  their  estates; 
others,  again,  are  poor  in  plenty  (which  is  the  basest  sort  of 
beggary.)  Some  are  overborne  by  a popular  tumult,  that 
breaks  out  like  a tempest,  even  in  the  highest  security  of  a 
calm  ; or,  like  a thunder-clap  that  frights  all  that  are  near 
it:  there  is  but  one  struck,  perhaps,  but  the  fear  extends  to 
all,  and  affects  those  that  may  suffer  as  well  as  those  that 
do.  As  in  the  discharge  of  a piece  only  with  powder,  it  is 
not  the  stroke  but  the  crack  that  frights  the  birds.  Adver- 
sity, I will  grant  you,  is  not  a thing  to  be  wished,  no  more 
than  war : but  if  it  be  my  lot  to  be  torn  with  the  stone, 
broken  upon  the  wheel,  or  to  receive  wounds  or  maims,  it 
shall  be  my  prayer,  that  I may  bear  my  fortune  as  becomes 
a wise  and  an  honest  man.  We  do  not  pray  for  tortures. 


EPISTLES. 


331 


but  for  patience ; not  for  war,  but  for  generosity  and  courage 
in  all  the  extremities  of  a war,  if  it  happen.  Afflictions  are 
but  the  exercise  of  virtue ; and  an  honest  man  is  out  of  his 
element  when  he  is  idle.  It  must  be  practice  and  patience 
that  perfect  it.  Do  we  not  see  how  one  wrestler  provokes 
another]  and  if  he  find  him  not  to  be  his  match,  he  will 
call  for  somebody  to  help  him,  that  may  put  him  to  all  his 
strength. 

It  is  a common  argument  against  the  justice  of  Provi- 
dence, in  the  matter  of  reward  and  punishment,  “ The  mis- 
fortune of  good  men  in  this  world,  and  the  prosperity  of  the 
wicked:”  but  it  is  an  easy  matter  to  vindicate  the  cause 
of  the  gods.  There  are  many  things  that  we  call  evil, 
which  turn  very  often  to  the  advantage  of  those  that  suffer 
them ; or  at  least  for  the  common  good,  whereof  Providence 
has  the  greater  care.  And  farther,  they  either  befall  those 
that  bear  them  willingly,  or  those  that  deserve  them  by 
their  impatience  under  them:  and,  lastly,  they  come  by  di- 
vine appointment;  and  to  those  that  are  good  men,  even  for 
that  very  reason,  because  they  are  good.  Nor  is  there  any 
thing  more  ordinary  than  for  that  which  we  feared  as  a 
calamity  to  prove  the  foundation  of  our  happiness.  How 
many  are  there  in  the  world  that  enjoy  all  things  to  their 
own  wish,  whom  God  never  thought  worthy  of  a trial  ] If 
it  might  be  imagined  that  the  Almighty  should  take  off  his 
thought  from  the  care  of  his  whole  work,  what  more  glo- 
rious spectacle  could  he  reflect  upon  than  a valiant  man 
struggling  with  adverse  fortune  ] or  Cato’s  standing  upright 
and  unmoved  under  the  shook  of  a public  ruin]  “Let  the 
whole  world,”  says  he,  “ fall  into  one  band,  and  let  Caesar 
encompass  me  with  his  legions  by  land,  his  shipping  at  sea, 
and  his  guards  at  the  gates,  Cato  will  yet  cut  out  his  way ; and 
with  that  weapon  that  was  untainted,  even  in  the  civil  war, 
give  himself  that  liberty  which  Fate  denied  to  his  comitry 
Set  upon  the  great  work  then,  and  deliver  thyself  from  the 
clog  of  thy  humanity.  Juba  and  Petreius  have  already  done 
the  good  office  one  for  the  other,  by  a generous  concurrence 
of  resolution  and  fate;  but  Cato  is  above  example,  and  does 
as  much  scorn  to  ask  his  death  of  any  man  as  his  life.” 
With  what  joy  did  this  great  man  contemplate  immortality, 
when  he  took  his  book  and  his  sword  together,  and  in  cold 
thoughts  dispatched  himself!  Let  this  suffice  of  Cato,  wliose 
virtue  Providence  made  use  of  to  cope  with  all  the  powers 


332 


EPISTLES 


of  the  earth.  His  courage  took  delight  in,  and  sought  for, 
all  occasions  of  hazard  ; keeping  his  eye  stiH  upon  the  end, 
without  valuing  the  difficulties  of  the  passage.  The  suffer- 
ance is  one  part  of  the  glory;  and  though  one  man  may 
escape  without  wounds,  yet  he  is  still  more  reverend  and 
remarkable  that  comes  off  bloody.  The  malice  of'  great 
men  is  grievous,  you  will  say,  and  yet  he  supported  the  op- 
positions of  Pompey,  Cajsar,  and  Crassus.  Is  it  troublesome 
to  be  repulsed  1 Vatinius  was  preferred  before  him.  Pros- 
perity shows  a man  but  one  part  of  human  nature.  Nobody 
knows  what  such  a man  is  good  for ; neither  in  truth  does 
he  understand  himself  for  want  of  experiment.  Temporal 
happiness  is  for  weak  and  vulgar  minds;  but  the  subduing 
of  public  terrors  is  a work  that  is  reserved  for  more  gene- 
rous spirits.  Calamity  is  the  touchstone  of  a brave  mind, 
that  resolves  to  live  and  die  free,  and  master  of  itself.  The 
combatant  brings  no  metal  into  the  field  that  was  never 
battered  : he  that  has  lost  blood,  and  yet  keeps  his  stomach ; 
he  that  has  been  under  his  enemy  and  worsted,  and  yet 
comes  on  again,  and  gathers  heart  from  his  misfortunes ; that 
is  the  man  of  hope  and  courage. 

But  is  it  not  a very  unjust  and  a rigorous  fate  that  good 
men  should  be  poor  and  friendless]  All  this  is  no  more  than 
the  natural  work  of  matter  and  form.  Mean  souls  are 
meanly  principled  ; but  there  goes  more  to  the  making  up 
of  a brave  man,  that  is  to  work  out  his  way  through  difficulties 
and  storms.  We  are  condemned  to  terrible  encounters; 
and  because  we  cannot,  according  to  the  course  of  Nature, 
avoid  them,  we  have  faculties  given  us  that  will  enable  us 
to  bear  them  ; or,  at  the  worst,  to  have  a retreat;  if  we  will 
not  fight,  we  may  fly.  So  that  nothing  is  made  more  easy 
to  us,  than  that  which  is  most  necessary  to  us,  to  die.  No 
man  is  kept  in  the  world  against  his  will ; but  adversity  is 
the  better  for  us  all : for  it  is  God’s  mercy  to  show  the 
world  their  errors,  and  that  the  things  they  fear  and  covet, 
are  neither  good  nor  evil ; being  the  common  and  promis- 
cuous lot  both  of  good  men  and  bad.  If  they  were  good, 
only  the  good  should  enjoy  them ; and  if  bad,  only  the  wicked 
should  suffer  them.  One  man  is  taken  away  in  a scuffle 
for  a wench,  and  another  in  the  defence  of  his  country ; and 
we  find  silver  and  gold  both  in  a temple  and  in  the  stews. 

Now,  to  show  you  that  the  virtue  which  I affect  is  not  so 
iinaginarj  and  extravagant  as  it  is  taken  to  be,  I will  allow 


EPISTLES. 


335 


a wise  man  to  tremble,  to  turn  pale,  nay,  and  to  groan  too, 
and  to  suffer  all  the  affections  of  his  bodily  sense,  provided 
that  he  keep  his  mind  firm  and  free  from  submis.sion  to  his 
body ; and  that  he  does  not  repent  of  his  constancy  (which 
is  in  itself  so  great  a virtue  that  there  is  some  authority 
even  in  a pertinacious  error.  If  the  body  be  brought  by  ex- 
ercise to  the  contempt  of  bruises  and  wounds,  how  much 
more  easily  then  may  the  mind  be  fortified  against  the  as- 
saults of  Fortune;  and  though,  perhaps,  thrown  down  and 
trode  upon,  yet  recover  itself  ! The  body  must  have  meat 
and  drink,  much  labor  and  practice ; whereas  the  food  and 
the  business  of  the  mind  is  within  itself,  and  virtue  main- 
tained without  either  toil  or  charge.  If  you  say,  that  many 
professors  of  wisdom  are  wrought  upon  by  menaces  and 
mischiefs;  these,  let  me  tell  you,  are  but  proficients,  and  not 
as  yet  arrived  at  the  state  of  wisdom  ; they  are  not  strong 
enough  to  practise  what  they  know.  It  is  with  our  dispo- 
itions  as  with  our  clothes ; they  will  take  some  colors  at 
one  dipping,  but  others  must  be  steeped  over  and  over  before 
they  will  imbibe  them.  And  so  for  disciplines,  they  must 
soak  and  lie  long  before  they  take  the  tincture.  No  man 
can  receive  an  injury,  and  not  be  moved  at  it;  but  yet  he 
may  keep  himself  free  from  perturbations : and  so  far  from 
being  troubled  at  them,  that  he  may  make  use  of  them  for 
the  experiment  and  trial  of  his  virtue;  keeping  himself  still 
moderate,  placid,  cheerful,  and  safe  in  a profound  quiet,  and 
fixed  in  his  station.  “ But  if  a wise  man  cannot  be  poo’ 
how  comes  it  that  he  is  many  times  without  either  meat, 
drink,  clothes,  or  lodging!  If  only  fools  are  mad,  how  comes 
it  then  that  wise  men  have  their  alienations  of  mind,  and 
talk  as  idly  in  a fever  as  other  people  !”  It  is  one  thing,  the 
receiving  of  an  injury,  and  another  thing,  the  concealing 
of  an  indignation  for  it;  it  is  the  body  in  this  case  that  suf- 
fers, (which  is  the  fool’s  part)  but  not  the  mind.  That  man 
is  never  the  worse  pilot  that  by  foul  weather  is  forced  be- 
hind his  business.  When  a ship  springs  a leak,  we  do  not 
presently  quarrel  either  with  the  mariners  or  with  the  ves- 
sel ; but  some  to  the  pump,  others  into  the  hold,  to  keep  the 
ship  above  water.  And  if  we  cannot  absolutely  master  it, 
we  must  still  work  on,  for  it  is  then  a great  point  gained,  if 
we  can  but  keep  it  at  a stay.  Some  men  are  strangely  trans- 
ported at  the  insolence  of  the  porter  that  refuses  to  let  them 
into  a great  man’s  house:  they  forget  that  tbe  door  of  a 


334 


EPISILES. 


prison  is  not  more  strictly  guarded  than  that  of  a palace. 
He  that  has  business  must  pay  for  his  passage,  and  sweeter, 
him,  as  he  would  do  a churlish  cur  with  a sop.  That  which  ia 
to  be  sold  is  to  be  bought ; he  is  a weak  man  that  rates  him- 
self according  to  the  civility  of  a slave.  Let  him  have  a 
reverence  for  himself,  and  then  no  matter  who  despises  him. 
What  if  he  should  break  his  staff,  or  cause  his  master  to  turn 
him  away,  or  to  correct  him  1 He  that  contends  supposes  an 
equality : and  even  when  he  has  got  the  better  of  him,  ad- 
mits that  there  was  one.  What  if  he  should  receive  a blow  1 
Cato  (the  greatest  man  of  his  age)  did  not  only  forgive  it, 
but  forget  it. 

It  is  not  to  say  that  this  or  that  is  tolerable  to  a wise 
man,  or  intolerable.  “ If  we  do  not  totally  subdue  Fortune, 
Fortune  overcomes  us.”  It  is  the  foundation  of  a happy 
life  for  a man  to  depend  upon  himself ; but  an  absolute  tran- 
quillity of  mind,  and  a freedom  from  errors,  must  be  the 
business  of  another  world. 


EPISTLE  XXV. 

A wise  and  a good  man  is  proof  against  all  accidents  of 
Fate. 

The  book  you  promised  me  is  now  come  to  my  hand ; 
and  I opened  it  with  an  intent  to  read  it  over  at  leisure. 
But  when  I was  once  in,  I could  not  lay  it  down  again  until 
I had  gone  through  with  it.  At  present  I shall  only  tell  you 
that  I am  exceedingly  pleased  wi  th  the  choice  of  the  subject ; 
but  I am  transported  with  the  spirit  and  gentleness  of  it.  You 
shall  hear  farther  from  me  upon  a second  reading;  and  you 
need  not  fear  the  hearing  of  the  truth,  for  your  goodness 
leaves  a man  no  place  for  flattery.  I find  you  still  to  be  one 
and  the  same  man,  which  is  a great  matter,  and  only  proper 
to  a wise  man  ; for  fools  are  various ; one  while  thrifty  and 
grave,  another  while  profuse  and  vain.  Happy  is  the  man 
that  sets  himself  right  at  first,  and  continues  so  to  the  end. 
All  fools,  we  say,  are  mad  men,  though  they  are  not  all  of 
them  in  Bedlam.  We  find  some  at  the  bar,  some  upon  the 
bench,  and  not  a few  even  in  the  senate  itself.  One  man’s 
folly  is  sad ; another’s,  wanton ; and  a third  is  busy  and  im- 


EPISTLES. 


33? 


pertinent.  A wise  man  carries  all  his  treasure  within  him- 
self : what  Fortune  gives  she  may  take ; but  he  leaves  no- 
thing at  her  mercy.  He  stands  firm,  and  keeps  his  ground 
against  all  misfortunes,  without  so  much  as  changing  coun- 
tenance. He  is  free,  inviolable,  unshaken;  proof  against  all 
accidents,  and  not  only  invincible,  but  inflexible.  So  long  as 
he  cannot  lose  any  thing  of  his  own,  he  never  troubles  him- 
self for  what  is  another’s.  He  is  a friend  to  Providence,  and 
will  not  murmur  at  any  thing  that  comes  to  pass  by  God’s 
appointment.  He  is  not  only  resolute,  but  generous  and 
good-natured,  and  ready  to  lay  down  his  life  in  a good  cause; 
and  for  the  public  safety  to  sacrifice  his  own.  He  does  not 
so  much  consider  the  pleasure  of  his  life  as  the  need  that  the 
world  has  of  him;  and  he  is  not  so  nice  neither  as  to  be 
weary  of  his  life  while  he  may  either  serve  his  wife  or  his 
friends.  Nor  is  it  all  that  his  life  is  profitable  to  them,  but  it 
is  likewise  delightful  to  himself,  and  carries  its  own  reward; 
for  what  can  be  more  comfortable  than  to  be  so  dear  to 
another,  as  for  that  very  reason  to  become  dearer  to  himself  ? 
If  he  lose  a child,  he  is  pensive ; he  is  compassionate  to  the 
sick,  and  only  troubled  when  he  sees  men  wallowing  in 
infamy  and  vice:  whereas,  on  the  other  side,  you  shall  see 
nothing  but  restlessness ; one  man  hankering  after  his  neigh- 
bor’s wife ; another  in  pain  about  his  own  ; a third  in  grief 
for  a repulse;  another  as  much  out  of  humor  for  his  suc- 
cess. If  he  lose  an  estate,  he  parts  with  it  as  a thing  that 
was  only  adventitious  : or  if  it  was  of  his  own  acquiring,  he 
computes  the  possession  and  loss  ; and  says  thus  to  himself, 
I shall  live  as  well  afterward  as  I did  before.  Our  houses 
(says  he)  may  be  burnt  or  robbed ; our  lands  taken  from  us; 
and  we  can  call  nothing  our  own  that  is  under  the  dominion 
of  Fortune.  It  is  a foolish  avarice  that  restrains  all  things  to 
a propriety,  and  believes  nothing  to  be  a man’s  own  that  is 
public : whereas  a wise  man  judges  nothing  so  much  his  own 
as  that  wherein  mankind  is  allowed  a share.  It  is  not  with 
the  blessings  of  Providence  as  it  is  with  a dole ; where  every 
man  receives  so  much  ahead  ; but  -every  man  there  has  all. 
That  which  we  eat,  and  either  give  or  receive  with  the  hand, 
may  be  broken  into  parts ; but  peace  and  freedom  of  mind 
are  not  to  be  divided.  He  that  has  first  cast  olF  the  empire 
of  Fortune,  needs  not  fear  that  of  great  men ; for  they  are 
but  Fortune’s  hands;  nor  was  any  man  ever  broken  by  ad 
v’ersity  that  was  not  first  betrayed  by  prosperity.  “But  whai 


336 


EPISTLES. 


sigTiifies  philosophy,”  you  will  say,  “ if  there  be  a fate  ; if 
we  be  governed  by  Fortune,  or  some  overruling  pow'er? 
For  ceriainties  are  unchangeable,  and  there  is  no  providing 
against  uncertainties.  If  what  I shall  do  and  resolve,  be 
already  determined,  what  use  of  philosophy  1”  Yes,  great 
use ; for,  taking  all  this  for  granted,  philosophy  instructs 
and  advises  us  to  obey  God,  and  to  follow  him  willingly;  to 
oppose  Fortune  resolutely,  and  to  bear  all  accidents. 

Fate  is  an  irrevocable,  an  invincible,  and  an  unchangeable 
decree ; a necessity  of  all  things  and  actions  according  to 
eternal  appointment.  Like  the  course  of  a river,  it  moves 
forward,  without  contradiction  or  delay,  in  an  irresistible 
flux,  where  one  wave  pushes  on  another.  He  knows  little 
of  God  that  imagines  it  may  be  controlled.  There  is  no 
changing  of  the  purpose  even  of  a wise  man  ; for  he  sees 
beforehand  what  w'ill  be  best  for  the  future.  How  much 
more  unchangeable  then  is  the  Almighty,  to  whom  all 
futurity  is  always  present ! “ To  what  end  then  is  it, if  Fate 
be  ine.xorable,  to  offer  up  prayers,  and  sacrifices,  any  farther 
than  to  relieve  the  scruples  and  the  weakness  of  sickly 
minds'!”  My  answer  is,  first.  That  the  gods  take  no  delight 
in  the  sacrifices  of  beasts,  or  in  the  images  of  gold  and  silver, 
but  in  a pious  and  obedient  will.  And,  secondly.  That  by 
prayers  and  sacrifices,  dangers  and  afflictions  may  be  some» 
times  removed;  sometimes  lessened;  other  whiles  deferred: 
and  all  this  without  any  offence  to  the  power  or  necessity 
of  Fate.  There  are  some  things  which  Providence  has  left 
so  far  in  suspense,  that  they  seem  to  be  (in  a manner)  condi- 
tional ; in  such  sort,  that  even  appearing  evils  may,  upon 
our  prayers  and  supplications,  be  turned  into  goods,  which 
is  so  far  from  being  against  Fate,  that  it  is  even  a part  of 
Fate  itself.  You  will  say,  “That  either  this  shall  come  to 
pass  or  not.  If  the  former,  it  will  be  the  same  thing  i we 
do  not  pray:  and  if  the  other,  it  will  be  the  same  th.ng  if 
we  do.”  To  this  I must  reply,  that  the  proposition  is  false, 
for  want  of  the  middle  exception  betwixt  the  one  and  the 
other.  This  will  be,  (say  I)  that  is,  if  there  shall  any 
prayers  interpose  in  the  case.  But  then  do  they  object,  on 
the  other  side,  that  this  very  thing  also  is  necessary : for  it 
IS  likewise  determined  by  Fate  either  that  we  shall  pray  or 
not.  What  if  I should  now  grant  you  that  there  is  a fate 
also  even  in  our  very  prayers;  a determination  that  we 
shall  pray,  and  that  therefore  we  shall  pray!  It  is  decreed 


EPISTLES. 


33? 


that  a man  shall  be  eloquent;  but  upon  condition  that  he 
apply  himself  to  letters;  by  the  same  fate  it  is  decreed  that 
he  shall  so  apply  himself,  and  that  therefore  he  shall  learn. 
Such  a man  shall  be  rich  if  he  betake  himself  to  navigation ; 
but  the  same  fate  that  promises  him  a great  estate  appoints 
also  that  he  shall  sail,  and  therefore  he  puts  to  sea.  It  is  the 
same  case  in  expiations ; a man  shall  avoid  dangers,  if  he 
can  by  his  prayers  avoid  the  threatenings  of  divine  ven- 
geance : but  this  is  part  of  his  fate  also  that  he  shall  so  do, 
and  therefore  he  does  it.  These  arguments  are  made  use  of 
to  prove,  that  there  is  nothing  left  to  our  will,  but  that  we 
are  all  overruled  by  fatalities.  When  we  come  to  handle 
that  matter,  we  shall  show'  the  consistency  of  free-will  with 
fate,  having  already  made  it  appear  that  notwithstanding 
the  certain  order  of  Fate,  judgments  may  be  averted  bj 
prayers  and  supplications,  and  without  any  repugnancy  to 
Fate;  for  they  are  part  even  of  the  law  of  Fate  itself.  You 
will  say,  perhaps,  “ What  am  I the  better  for  the  priest  or 
the  prophet  1 for  whether  he  bids  me  sacrifice  or  not,  I lie 
under  the  necessity  of  doing  it.”  Yes,  in  this  I am  the 
better  for  it,  as  he  is  a minister  of  Fate.  We  may  as  well 
say  that  it  is  matter  of  fate  that  we  are  in  health : and  yet 
we  are  indebted  for  it  to  the  physician;  because  the  benefit 
of  that  fate  is  conveyed  to  us  by  his  hand. 


EPISTLE  XXVI. 

\ll  things  are  produced  out  of  cause  and  matter ; of  Provi- 
dence; a brave  man  is  a match  for  Fortune.  ■ 

I HAD  yesterday  but  the  one-half  of  it  to  myself:  my  dis- 
temper took  up  the  morning,  the  afternoon  was  my  own. 
My  first  trial  was,  how  far  I could  endure  reading:  and 
when  I saw  I could  bear  that,  I fell  to  writing;  and  pitched 
upon  a subject  difficult  enough,  for  it  required  great  atten- 
tion : but  yet  I was  resolved  not  to  be  oveicome.  Some  of 
mv  friends  coming  in,  told  me  that  I did  ill,  and  took  me 
off : so  that  from  writing  we  passed  into  discourse,  and 
• oade  you  the  judge  of  the  matter  in  question.  The  Stoics, 
2D 


338 


EPISTLES. 


you  know,  will  have  all  things  to  be  produced  out  of  cause 
and  matter.  The  matter  is  dull  and  passive;  susceptible  of 
any  thing,  but  not  capame  of  doing  any  thing  itself.  The 
cause  is  that  power  tnat  forms  the  matter  this  or  that 
way  at  pleasure.  Some  thing  there  must  be,  of  which 
every  thing  is  made ; and  then  there  must  be  a workman 
to  form  every  thing.  All  art  is  but  an  imitation  of  nature : 
and  that  which  1 speak  in  general  of  the  world  holds  in  the 
case  of  every  particular  person.  As,  for  example : The 
matter  of  a statue  is  the  wood,  the  stone,  or  the  metal ; the 
statuary  shapes  it,  and  is  the  cause  of  it.  Aristotle  assigns 
four  causes  to  every  thing.  The  material;  which  is  the 
sine  qua  non,  (or  that  without  which  it  could  not  be.)  The 
efficient;  as  the  workman.  The  formal;  as  that  which  is 
stamped  upon  all  operations.  And  the  final;  which  is  the 
design  of  the  whole  work.  Now,  to  explain  this.  The  first 
cause  of  the  statue  (for  the  purpose)  is  the  copper;  for  it 
never  had  been  made  if  there  had  not  been  something  to 
work  upon.  The  second  is  the  artificer ; for  if  he  had  not 
anderstood  his  art  it  had  never  succeeded.  The  third  cause 
is  the  form ; for  it  could  never  properly  have  been  the  statue 
of  such  or  such  a person,  if  such  a resemblance  had  not 
been  put  upon  it.  The  fourth  cause  is  the  end  of  making 
it,  without  which  it  had  never  been  made ; as  money,  if  it 
were  made  for  sale ; glory,  if  the  workman  made  it  for  his 
credit;  or  religion,  if  he  designed  the  bestowing  of  it  upon 
a temple.  Plato  adds  a fifth,  which  he  calls  the  idea,  or 
the  exemplar,  by  which  the  workman  draws  his  copy.  And 
he  makes  God  to  be  full  of  these  figures,  which  he  repre- 
sents to  be  inexhaustible,  unchangeable,  and  immortal. 
Now,  upon  the  whole  matter,  give  us  your  opinion.  To 
me  it  seems  that  here  are  either  too  many  causes  assigned, 
or  too  few  ; and  they  might  as  well  have  introduced  time 
and  place  as  some  of  the  rest.  Either  clear  the  matter  in 
question;  or  deal  plainly,  and  tell  us  that  you  cannot:  and 
so  let  us  return  to  those  cases,  wherein  all  mankind  are 
agreed,  the  reforming  of  our  lives,  and  the  regulations  of 
our  manners.  For  these  subtleties  are  but  time  lost.  Let 
us  search  ourselves  in  .the  first  place,  and  afterward  the 
world. 

There  is  no  great  hurt  in  passing  over  those  things  which 
we  are  never  the  better  for  when  we  know ; and  it  is  so 
ordered  by  Providence,  that  there  is  no  great  difficulty  in 


EPISTLES. 


339 


learning'  or  acquiring  those  things,  which  may  make  us 
either  happier  or  better.  Beside  that,  whatsoever  is  Imrt- 
ful  to  us  we  have  drawn  out  of  the  very  bowels  of  the  earth. 

Every  man  knows  without  telling,  that  this  wonderful 
fabric  of  the  universe  is  not  without  a governor ; and  that 
a constant  order  cannot  be  the  work  of  Chance : for  the 
parts  would  then  fall  foul  one  upon  another.  The  motions 
of  the  stars,  and  their  influences,  are  acted  by  the  command 
of  an  eternal  decree.  It  is  by  the  dictate  of  an  almighty 
Power  that  the  heavy  body  of  the  earth  hangs  in  balance. 
Wnence  come  the  revolutions  of  the  seasons  and  the  flux 
of  rivers  1 the  wonderful  virtue  of  the  smallest  seeds'!  (as 
an  oak  to  arise  from  an  acorn;')  to  say  nothing  of  those 
that  seem  to  be  the  most  irregular  and  uncertain  ; as  clouds, 
rain,  thunder,  the  eruptions  of  fire  out  of  mountains,  earth- 
quakes, and  those  tumultuary  motions  in  the  lower  region 
of  the  air,  which  have  their  ordinate  causes;  and  so  have 
those  things  too,  which  appear  to  us  more  admirable,  because 
less  frequent : as  scalding  fountains,  and  new  islands  start- 
ed out  of  the  sea : or,  what  sliall  we  say  of  the  ebbing  and 
flowing  of  the  ocean;  the  constant  times  and  measures  of 
the  tides  according  to  the  changes  of  the  moon,  that  influ- 
ences most  bodies  * But  this  needs  not;  for  it  is  not  that  we 
doubt  of  Providence,  but  complain  of  it.  And  it  were  a good 
office  to  reconcile  mankind  to  the  gods,  who  are  undoubtedly 
best  to  the  best  It  is  against  nature  that  good  should  hurt 
good.  A good  man  is  not  only  the  friend  of  God,  but  the 
very  image,  the  disciple,  and  the  imitator  of  him,  and  true 
child  of  his  heavenly  Father.  He  is  true  to  himself ; and 
acts  with  constancy  and  resolution.  Scipio,  by  a cross 
wind,  being  forced  into  the  power  of  his  enemies,  cast  him- 
self upon  the  point  of  his  own  sword ; and  as  the  people 
were  inquiring  what  was  become  of  the  general;  “The 
general,”  says  Scipio,  “is  very  well,”  and  so  he  expired 
What  is  it  for  a man  to  fall,  if  we  consider  the  end,  heyond 
which  no  man  can  fall!  We  must  repair  to  wisdom  for  arms 
against  Fortune ; for  it  were  unreasonable  for  her  to  fur- 
nish arms  against  herself.  A gallant  man  is  Fortune’s 
match ; his  courage  provokes  and  despises  those  terrible  ap- 
pearances that  would  otherwise  enslave  us.  A wise  man 
is  out  of  the  reach  of  Fortune,  hut  not  free  from  the  malice 
of  it ; and  all  attempts  upon  him  are  no  more  than  Xerxes’s 
arrows ; they  may  ;darken  the  day,  but  they  cannot  strike 


340 


EPISTLES. 


the  sun.  There  is  nothing  so  holy  as  to  be  privileged  from 
sacrilege;  but  to  strike  and  not  to  wound  is  anger  lost;  and 
he  is  invulnerable  that  is  struck  and  not  hurt.  His  resolu- 
tion is  tried ; the  waves  may  dash  themselves  upon  a rock, 
but  not  break  it:  temples  may  be  profaned  and  cemolished, 
but  the  Deity  still  remains  untouched. 


EPISTLE  XXVIl. 

Some  traditions  of  the  Ancients  concerning  thunder  and 

lightning ; loilh  the  author's  contemplations  thereupon. 

There  is  no  question  but  that  Providence  has  given  to 
mortals  the  tokens  or  forerunners  of  things  to  come  ; and, 
by  those  means,  laid  open,  in  some  measure,  the  decrees  of 
Fate : only  we  take  notice  of  some  things,  without  giving 
any  heed  to  others.  There  is  not  any  thing  done,  according 
to  the  course  of  nature,  which  is  not  either  the  cause  or  the 
sign  of  something  that  follows : so  that  wheresoever  there  is 
order,  there  is  place  for  prediction.  But  there  is  no  judg- 
ment to  be  given  upon  accidents.  Now,  though  it  is  a very 
hard  matter  to  arrive  at  the  foreknowledge  of  things  to  come, 
and  to  predict  particularly  what  shall  hereafter  fall  out, 
upon  a certain  knowledge  of  the  power  and  influence  of  the 
stars ; it  is  yet  unquestionable  that  they  have  a power,  though 
we  cannot  expressly  say  what  it  is.  In  the  subject  of  thun- 
der there  are  several  opinions  as  to  the  signification  of  it. 
The  Stoics  hold,  that  because  the  cloud  is  broken,  therefore 
the  holt  is  shot,  (according  to  common  speech.)  Others  con- 
jecture that  the  cloud  is  broken  to  that  very  end  that  it  may 
discharge  the  thunderbolt,  referring  all  in  such  sort  to  God 
as  if  the  signification  did  not  arise  from  the  thing  done,  but 
as  if  the  thing  itself  were  done  for  the  signification’s  sake : 
but  whether  the  signification  goes  before  or  follows,  it  comes 
all  to  the  same  point.  There  are  three  sorts  of  lightning; 
the  first  is  so  pure  and  subtle  that  it  pierces  through  what- 
soever it  encounters : the  second  scatters  and  breaks  every 
thing  to  pieces : the  other  burns,  either  by  blasting,  consum- 
ing, inflaming,  or  discoloring,  and  the  like.  Some  lightnings 
are  monitory,  some  are  menacing,  and  otjiers  they  fancy  to 


EPISTLES. 


341 


be  promising.  They  allot  to  Jupiter  three  sorts ; the  first  is 
only  monitory  and  gentle,  which  he  casts  of  his  own  accord 
the  second  they  make  to  be  an  act  of  council,  as  being  done 
by  the  vote  and  advice  of  twelve  gods.  This,  they  say, 
does  many  times  some  good,  but  not  without  some  mischief 
too ; as  the  destruction  of  one  man  may  prove  the  caution 
of  another.  The  third  is  the  result  of  a council  of  the  su- 
perior deities,  from  whence  proceed  great  mischiefs,  both 
public  and  private.  Now,  this  is  a great  folly  to  imagine 
that  Jupiter  would  wreak  his  displeasure  upon  pillars,  trees, 
nay,  upon  temples  themselves,  and  yet  let  the  sacrilegious 
gofVee;  to  strike  sheep,  and  consume  altars,  and  all  this 
upon  a consultation  of  the  gods;  as  if  he  wanted  either  skill 
or  justice  to  govern  his  own  affairs  by  himself,  either  in 
sparing  the  guilty,  or  in  destroying  the  innocent.  Now, 
what  should  be  the  mystery  of  all  thisl  The  wisdom  of  our 
forefathers  found  it  necessary  to  keep  wicked  people  in  awe 
by  the  apprehension  of  a superior  power ; and  to  fright  them 
into  their  good  behavior,  by  the  fear  of  an  armed  and  an 
avenging  justice  over  their  heads.  But  how  comes  it,  that 
the  lightning,  which  comes  from  Jupiter  himself,  should  be 
said  to  be  harmless,  and  that  which  he  casts  upon  counsel 
and  advice  to  bo  dangerous  and  mortal  1 The  moral  of  it  is 
this,  that  all  kings  should  have  Jupiter’s  example ; do  all 
good  by  themselves,  and  when  severity  is  necessary,  permit 
that  to  be  done  by  others : beside  that,  as  crimes  are  unequal, 
so  also  should  be  the  punishments.  Neither  did  they  believe 
that  Jupiter  to  be  the  thunderer,  whose  image  was  wor- 
shipped in  the  Capitol,  and  in  other  places ; but  intended  it 
for  the  Maker  and  Governor  of  the  universe  by  what  name 
soever  we  shall  call  him.  Now,  in  truth,  Jupiter  does  not 
immediately  cast  the  lightning  himself,  but  leaves  Nature 
to  her  ordinary  method  of  operation ; so  that  what  he  does 
not  immediately  by  himself,  he  does  yet  cause  to  be  done: 
for,  whatsoever  Nature  does,  God  does.  There  may  bo 
something  gathered  out  of  all  things  that  are  cither  said  or 
done,  that  a man  may  be  the  better  for : and  he  does  a 
greater  thing  that  masters  the  fear  of  thunder,  than  he  that 
discovers  the  reason  of  it.  We  are  surrounded  and  beset 
with  ill  accidents  ; and  since  we  cannot  avoid  the  stroke  of 
them,  let  us  prepare  ourselves  honestly  to  bear  them.  But 
how  must  that  bel  By  the  contempt  of  death  we  do  alsc 
contemn  all  things  in  the  wav  to  it ; as  wounds,  shipwrecks, 
2 1)2 


342 


EPISTLES. 


the  fury  of  wild  beasts,  or  any  other  violence  whatsoever; 
which,  at  the  worst,  can  but  part  the  soul  and  the  body. 
And  we  have  this  for  our  comfort,  though  our  lives  are  at 
the  mercy  of  Fortune,  she  has  yet  no  power  over  the  dead. 

How  many  are  there  that  call  for  death  in  the  distress  of 
their  hearts,  even  for  the  very  fear  of  it ! and  this  unad- 
vised desire  of  death  does  in  common  affect  both  the  best 
and  the  worst  of  men ; only  with  this  difference,  the  former 
despise  life,  and  the  other  are  weary  of  it. 

It  is  a nauseous  thing  to  serve  the  body,  and  to  be  so  many 
years  doing  so  many  beastly  things  over  and  over.  It  is 
well  if  in  our  lives  we  can  please  others ; but  whatever  we 
do  in  our  deaths,  let  us  be  sure  to  please  ourselves.  Death 
is  a thing  which  no  care  can  avoid,  no  felicity  can  time  it, 
no  power  overcome  it.  Other  things  are  disposed  of  by 
Chance  and  Fortune,  but  Death  treats  all  men  alike. 

The  prosperous  must  die  as  well  as  the  unfortunate ; and 
methinks  the  very  despair  of  overcoming  our  fate  should 
inspire  us  w-ith  courage  to  encounter  it:  for  there  is  no 
resolution  so  obstinate  as  that  which  arises  from  necessity. 
It  makes  a coward  as  bold  as  Julius  Cssar,  though  upon 
different  principles.  We  are  all  of  us  reserved  for  death; 
as  Nature  brings  forth  one  generation  she  calls  back  an- 
other. The  whole  dispute  is  about  the  time,  but  nobody 
doubts  about  the  thing  itself. 


EPISTLE  XXVIII. 

A contemplation  of  heaven,  and  heavenly  things.  Of  God : 
and  of  the  soul. 

There  is  a great  difference  betwixt  philosophy  and  other 
arts ; and  a greater  yet  betwixt  that  philosophy  itself,  which 
IS  of  divine  contemplation,  and  that  which  has  a regard  to 
things  here  below.  It  is  much  higher  and  braver;  it  takes 
a larger  scope ; and  being  unsatisfied  with  what  it  sees,  it 
aspires  to  the  knowledge  of  something  that  is  greater  and 
fairer,  and  which  Nature  has  placed  out  of  our  ken.  The 
one  only  teaches  us  what  is  to  be  done  on  earth ; the  other 
reveals  to  us  that  which  actually  is  done  in  heaven:  the  one 


EPISTLES. 


343 


discusses  our  errors,  and  holds  the  light  to  us,  hy  which  we 
distinguish  in  the  ambiguities  of  life ; the  other  surmounts 
that  darkness  which  we  are  wrapt  up  in,  and  carries  us  up 
to  the  Fountain  of  light  itself.  And  then  it  is  that  we  are 
in  a special  manner  to  acknowledge  the  infinite  grace  and 
bounty  of  the  nature  of  things,  ^len  we  see  it,  not  only 
where  it  is  public  and  common,  but  in  the  very  secrets  of  it , 
as  being  admitted  into  the  cabinet  of  the  Divinity  itself. 
There  it  is  that  we  are  taught  to  understand  what  is  the 
matter  of  the  world,  and  who  is  the  Author  and  Preserver 
of  it.  What  God  himself  is ; and  whether  he  be  wholly 
intent  upon  himself,  or  at  any  time  descends  to  consider  us. 
Whether  he  has  done  his  work  once  for  all ; or  whether 
he  be  still  in  action ; whether  he  be  a part  of  the  world, 
or  the  world  itself:  whether  he  be  at  liberty  or  not  to  de- 
termine any  thing  anew  to-day,  and  to  control  or  derogate 
from  the  law  of  Fate : whether  it  be  any  diminution  of  his 
wisdom,  or  any  confession  of  error,  to  do  and  undo ; or  to 
have  made  things  that  were  afterward  to  be  altered : for 
the  same  things  must  of  necessity  always  please  him,  who 
can  never  be  pleased  but  with  that  which  is  best.  Now, 
this  is  no  lessening  either  of  his  liberty,  or  of  his  power ; for 
he  himself  is  his  own  necessity.  Without  the  benefits  and 
the  comfort  of  these  thoughts,  it  had  been  even  as  well  for 
us  never  to  have  been  born.  For  to  what  end  do  we  live ; 
is  it  only  to  eat  and  to  drink  1 to  stuff  up  an  infirm  and  fluid 
carcass,  that  would  perish  without  it : and  to  live  only  a 
servant  to  one  that  is  sick  1 to  fear  death,  to  which  we  are 
all  born  1 Take  away  this  inestimable  good,  and  life  itself 
is  not  worth  the  labor  and  the  care  of  it.  Oh ! how  wretched, 
how  contemptible  a thing  were  man,  if  he  should  not  ad- 
vance himself  above  the  state  of  human  aflairs ! So  long  as 
we  struggle  with  our  passions,  what  is  there  in  this  world 
that  we  do  which  is  glorious"!  Nay,  if  we  advance  ourselves 
so  far  as  to  overcome  them,  it  is  but  the  destroying  of  so 
many  monsters.  And  have  we  not  then  a mighty  exploit 
to  value  ourselves  upon,  when  we  have  made  ourselves  a 
little  more  tolerable  than  the  worst  of  men  7 Is  it  not  a 
wondrous  matter  to  brag  of,  that  we  are  a little  stronger 
than  a man  that  is  sick!  Alas!  alas!  my  friend,  there  is  a 
large  difference  betwixt  strength  and  health.  You  have 
not  a wicked  mind,  perhaps ; you  may  have  a clear  brow, 
a tongue  that  will  not  flatter,  and  a single  heart;  you  have 


344 


EPISTLES. 


not  that  avarice,  perchance,  that  refuses  to  itself  whatsoever 
it  takes  from  other  people;  nor  that  luxury  that  squanders 
away  money  shamefully,  and  yet  more  shamefully  repairs 
it;  nor  that  ambition  that  leads  you,  by  unworthy  ways,  to 
places  of  preferment.  These  are  only  negatives ; and  you 
have  got  nothing  all  this  while.  You  will  tell  me  that 
you  have  escaped  many  things ; but  you  have  not  yet  escaped 
yourself.  The  virtue  that  we  recommend  is  high  and  illus- 
trious. Not  that  it  is  a happiness  in  itself  to  be  free  from 
evil,  but  because  it  dignifies  and  enlarges  the  mind ; be- 
cause it  prepares  it  for  the  knowledge  of  heavenly  things, 
and  makes  it  capable  even  of  conversing  with  God  himself. 
It  is  then  arrived  at  the  highest  pitch  of  human  felicity, 
when  it  soars  aloft  and  enters  into  the  privacies  of  Nature, 
trampling  all  that  is  evil  or  vulgar  under  its  feet.  What  a 
delight,  what  a transport  is  it,  for  a soul  that  is  wandering 
among  the  stars,  to  look  down,  and  laugh  at  the  palaces  of 
princes,  and  the  whole  globe  of  the  earth,  and  all  its  trea- 
sures! I do  not  speak  of  that  only  that  is  converted  into 
money  and  plate,  but  of  that  also  which  is  reserved  in  the 
bowels  of  the  earth,  to  gratify  the  insatiable  covetousness  of 
posterity.  Nor  can  we  ever  bring  ourselves  to  the  absolute 
contempt  of  luxurious  ornaments,  rich  furniture,  stately 
buildings,  pleasant  gardens  and  fountains,  until  we  have  the 
world  under  us,  and  until  looking  down  from  the  heavens, 
nd  beholding  that  spot  of  ground  we  live  upon,  the  greater 
part  of  it  covered  with  the  sea,  beside  a great  deal  of  it 
desolate  and  either  scorched  or  frozen ; we  shall  say  thus  to 
ourselves,  “ Is  this  miserable  point  the  ball  of  contention, 
cnat  is  divided  among  so  many  nations  with  fire  and  sword  1 
How  ridiculous  are  the  bounds  as  well  as  the  contests  of 
mortals  I Such  a prince  must  not  pass  such  a river,  nor 
another  prince  those  mountains;  and  why  do  not  the  very 
pismires  canton  out  their  posts  and  jurisdiction  too  V’  For 
what  does  the  bustle  of  troops  and  armies  amount  to  more 
than  the  business  of  a swarm  of  ants  upon  a mole-hill  1 The 
scene  of  all  the  important  actions  here  below,  where  both 
at  sea  and  land  we  tug  and  scuffle  for  dominion  and  wealth, 
is  but  a wretched  point  of  earth ; whereas  the  dominions  of 
the' soul  above  are  boundless.  This  very  contemplation  gives 
us  force,  liberty,  and  nourishment;  the  mind  is  there  at 
home,  and  it  has  this  argument  of  its  divinity,  that  it  takes 
delight  in  what  is  divine:  it  contemplates  the  rising  and 


EPISTLES. 


345 


the  falling  of  the  stars,  and  the  admirable  harmony  of  order 
even  in  their  various  motions;  discussing  and  inquiring  into 
every  thing,  as  properly  appertaining  unto  itself  With 
how  much  scorn  does  it  then  reflect  upon  the  narrowness 
of  its  former  habitation ! There  it  is  that  it  learns  the  end 
of  its  proper  being,  the  knowledge  of  God.  And  what  is  God  1 
“An  immense  and  an  almighty  power;  great,  without 
limits ; and  he  does  whatsoever  pleases  him.”  He  that  ap- 
plies himself  to  this  study  transcends  the  very  lot  and  con- 
dition of  his  mortality.  That  almighty  Power  is  all  that 
we  do  see,  and  all  that  we  do  not  see.  What  is  the  dif- 
ference betwixt  the  divine  Nature  and  ours"!  Man  is  com- 
pounded, and  his  best  part  is  his  mind ; but  the  Almighty 
is  all  mind,  and  all  reason;  and  yet  mortals  are  so  blind, 
that  the  actions  of  this  incomprehensible  power,  so  excellent 
for  beauty,  constancy,  and  disposition,  are  looked  upon  by 
many  men  only  as  fortuitous,  and  the  work  of  Chance,  and 
subject  to  all  the  tumults  of  thunder,  clouds,  and  tempests, 
that  affect  poor  mortals.  And  this  is  not  only  the  folly  and 
madness  of  the  common  people,  but  the  weakness  also  of 
the  wise  men.  There  are  that  arrogate  to  themselves  the 
faculties  of  Providence  and  reason,  and  the  skill  of  disposing 
as  well  other  people’s  affairs  as  their  own:  and  yet  these 
very  men  are  so  besotted  as  to  imagine  the  world  only  to  be 
governed  by  an  unadvised  rashness,  as  if  Nature  knew  not 
what  she  did.  How  profitable  would  it  be  for  us  to  know 
the  truth  of  things,  and  to  allow  them  their  due  terms  and 
measures  ! To  inquire  into  the  power  of  the  Almighty,  and 
the  method  of  his  workings:  whether  he  made  the  matter 
itself  or  found  it  ready  to  his  hand;  and  whether  was  first, 
the  matter  itself,  or  the  idea  of  it  1 Whether  or  not  he  does 
what  he  pleases ; and  what  may  be  the  reason  of  so  many 
seeming  imperfections  in  his  operations!  It  is  well  said  of 
Aristotle,  that  we  should  handle  divine  matters  with  mod- 
esty and  reverence.  When  we  enter  into  a temple,  or  ap- 
proach the  altar,  we  compose  our  looks  and  our  actions  to 
all  the  decencies  of  humility  and  respect;  how  much  more 
then  does  it  concern  us,  when  we  treat  of  heavenly  things, 
to  deal  candidly,  and  not  to  let  one  syllable  pass  our  lips 
that  may  savor  of  confidence,  rashness,  or  ignorance  ! Truth 
lies  deep,  and  must  be  fetched  up  at  leisure.  How  many 
mysteries  are  there,  which  God  has  placed  out  of  our  sight, 
and  which  are  only  to  be  readied  by  thought  and  contem- 
plation ! The  notions  of  the  Divinity  are  profound  and  ob- 


346 


EPISTLES. 


scure ; or  else  perhaps  we  see  them  witnout  understanding 
them.  But  the  divine  Majesty  is  only  accessible  to  the 
mind.  What  this  is  (without  which  nothing  is)  we  are  not 
able  to  determine;  and  when  we  have  guessed  at  some 
sparks  of  it,  the  greater  part  lies  yet  concealed  from  us. 
How  many  creatures  have  we  now  in  this  age,  that  never 
were  known  to  us  before ! and  how  many  more  will  the 
next  age  know  more  than  we  do ! And  many  yet  will  be 
still  reserved  for  after-times.  The  very  rites  of  religion  are 
at  this  day  a secret,  and  unknown  to  many  people.  Nay, 
the  very  thing  that  we  most  eagerly  pursue,  we  are  not  yet 
arrived  at;  that  is  to  say,  a perfection  in  wickedness.  Vice 
IS  still  upon  the  improvement:  luxury,  immodesty,  and  a 
prostitute  dissolution  of  manners,  will  find  still  new  matter 
to  work  upon.  Our  men  are  grown  effeminate  in  their 
habits,  in  their  motions,  and  in  their  ornaments,  even  to  the 
degree  of  whorishness.  There  is  nobody  minds  philosophy 
but  for  want  of  comedy,  perhaps,  or  in  foul  weather,  when 
Uiere  is  nothing  else  to  be  done. 


POSTSCRIPT. 


Before  I take  my  last  leave  of  Seneca,  I will  here  dis- 
charge my  conscience,  as  if  I were  upon  my  last  leave  with 
ihe  whole  world.  I have  been  so  just,  both  to  the  reader 
and  to  the  author,  that  I have  neither  left  out  any  thing  in 
the  original,  which  I thought  the  one  might  he  the  better 
for ; nor  added  any  thing  of  my  own,  to  make  the  other  fare 
the  worse.  I have  done  in  this  volume  of  Epistles,  as  a 
good  husband  does  with  his  cold  meat ; they  are  only  hash, 
made  up  of  the  fragments  that  remained  of  the  hoo  former 
parts;  which  I could  not  well  dispose  of  into  any  other 
form,  or  so  properly  publish  under  any  other  title.  Let  me 
not  be  understood  to  impose  this  piece  upon  the  public  as  an 
abstract  of  Seneca’s  Epistles,  any  more  than  I did  the  other, 
for  the  abstracts  of  his  Benefits,  and  Happy  Life.  It  is  in 
works  of  this  nature  as  it  is  in  cordial  waters,  we  taste  all 
the  ingredients,  without  being  able  to  separate  this  from 
that ; but  still  we  find  the  virtue  of  every  plant  in  every 
drop.  To  return  to  my  allegory ; books  and  dishes  have 
this  common  fate;  there  was  never  any  one  of  either 
them  that  pleased  all  palates.  And,  in  truth,  it  is  a thing 
as  little  to  be  wished  for  as  expected ; for  an  universal  ap- 
plause is  at  least  two-thirds  of  a scandal.  So  that  though  I 
deliver  up  these  papers  to  the  press,  I invite  no  man  to  the 
reading  of  them : and  whosoever  reads  and  repents,  it  is  his 
own  fault.  To  conclude:  As  I made  this  composition  princi- 
pally for  myself,  so  it  agrees  exceedingly  well  with  my  con- 
stitution ; and  yet,  if  any  man  has  a mind  to  take  part  with 
me,  he  has  free  leave,  and  welcome.  But  let  him  carry  his 
consideration  along  with  him,  that  he  is  a very  unmannerly 
guest,  that  presses  upon  another  body's  table  and  then  quar- 
rels with  his  dinner. 


AN  AFTER-THOUGHT. 


This  abstract  has  now  passed  the  fifth  impression  • ( i.1 
the  world  has  not  been  altogether  so  kind  of  late  t(  ay 
politics  as  to  my  morals.  And  what  is  the  meaning  of  it,  Out 
tliat  we  live  in  an  age  that  will  better  bear  the  imat^  of 
what  people  ought  to  do  than  the  history  of  what  they  i/o'? 
and  that  is  the  difference  they  put  betwixt  the  one  and  .he 
other.  We  are  not  yet  to  take  an  estimate  of  the  intriusic 
value  of  truth,  honesty,  and  reason,  by  fancy  or  imaguia- 
tion;  as  if  the  standard  of  virtue  were  to  be  accommodated 
to  the  various  changes  and  vicissitudes  of  times,  interests, 
and  contending  parties;  but  so  it  falls  out,  that  some  verities 
and  some  good  offices,  will  take  a false  color  better  than 
others,  and  set  off  an  imposture  with  more  credit  and  coun- 
tenance to  the  common  people.  Daily  experience  tells  us, 
that  our  affections  are  as  liable  to  be  vitiated  as  our  palates ; 
insomuch,  that  the  most  profitable  of  meats,  drinks,  or 
remedies,  lose  not  only  their  effect,  but  their  very  savor, 
and  give  us  a lothing  at  one  time  for  that  we  longed  for, 
and  took  delight  in  at  another.  But  then  we  are  to  consider, 
that  the  humor  may  come  about  again  ; and  that  writings 
and  opinions  have*their  seasons  too,  and  take  their  turns,  as 
well  as  all  other  changeable  things  under  the  sun.  So  that, 
let  error,  corruption,  or  iniquity,  be  never  so  strong,  never 
so  popular;  let  the  ignorance  of  things  necessary  to  be 
known  he  never  so  dark  and  palpable,  we  may  yet  assure 
ourselves  that  however  truth  and  justice  may  suffer  a tem- 
porary eclipse,  they  will  yet,  at  the  long  run,  as  certainly 
vindicate  themselves,  and  recover  their  original  glory,  as 
the  setting  sun  shall  rise  again. 

When  I speak  of  my  Morals,  let  me  not  be  understood 
to  play  the  plagiary,  and  to  assume  the  subject-matter  of 
this  work  to  myself;  for  it  is  Seneca’s,  every  thought  and 
line  of  it ; though  it  would  be  as  hard  to  refer  each  sentence, 
text,  and  precept,  to  the  very  place  whence  it  was  drawn, 
as  to  bring  every  distinct  drop  in  a cask  of  wine  to  the 
particular  grape  from  whence  it  was  pressed.  So  that  I 
have  no  other  claim  to  the  merit  of  this  composition  than 


AN  AFTER-THOUGHT. 


349 


ttie  putting  of  things  in  order  that  I found  in  confusion , and 
digesting  the  loose  minutes,  and  the  broken  meditations  of 
that  divine  Heathen,  into  a kind  of  system  of  good  counsels, 
and  of  good  manners.  But  how  faithfully  soever  I have 
dealt  with  my  author,  in  a just  and  genuine  representation 
of  his  sense  and  meaning,  so  have  I,  on  the  other  hand,  with 
no  less  conscience  and  affection,  consulted  the  benefit,  the 
ease,  and  the  satisfaction  of  the  English  reader,  in  the  plain- 
ness and  simplicity  of  the  style,  and  in  the  perspicuity  of 
the  method.  And  yet,  after  all  this,  there  is  somewhat  still 
wanting,  methinks,  toward  the  doing  of  a full  right  to 
Seneca,  to  the  world,  and  to  myself,  and  to  the  thorough- 
finishing  of  this  piece ; a thing  that  I have  had  in  my  head 
long  and  often,  and  which  I have  as  good  a will  to  prosecute, 
even  at  this  instant,  as  ever,  if  I could  but  flatter  myself 
with  day  enough  before  me  to  go  through  with  it.  But  before 
I come  to  the  point  under  deliberation,  it  will  do  well,  first.  To 
take  a view  of  the  true  state  of  the  matter  in  hand,  upon  what 
ground  we  stand  at  present.  Secondly,  To  consider  from 
whence  it  is  that  we  are  to  take  our  rise  to  it ; and  so  to 
open  briefly,  and  by  degrees,  into  the  thing  itself. 

This  abstract,  I say,  is  entirely  Seneca’s;  and  though 
little  more  in  the  bulk  than  the  third  part  of  the  original,  it 
is,  in  eflbct,  a summary  of  the  whole  body  of  his  philosophy 
concerning  manners  contracted  into  this  epitome,  without 
either  overcharging  it  with  things  idle  and  superfluous,  or 
leaving  out  any  thing  which  I thought  might  contribute  to 
the  order  and  dignity  of  the  work.  As  to  his  school-ques- 
tions and  philosophical  disquisitions  upon  the  natural  reason 
of  things,  I have  almost  totally  cast  them  out,  as  curiosities 
that  hold  little  or  no  intelligence  with  the  government  of 
our  passions,  and  the  forming  of  our  lives,  and  as  matters, 
consequently,  that  are  altogether  foreign  to  my  province. 
I have  taken  the  liberty  also,  in  many  cases,  where  our 
author  inculcates  and  enforces  the  same  conceptions  over 
and  over  again  in  variety  of  phrase,  to  extract  the  spirit  of 
them ; and  instead  of  dressing  up  the  same  thought  in 
several  shapes,  to  make  some  one  adequate  word  or  sentence 
serve  for  all.  But  when  all  is  said  that  can  be  said ; nay, 
and  when  all  is  done  too  that  can  be  done,  within  the  com- 
pass of  an  essay  of  this  quality ; though  never  so  correct  in 
the  kind,  it  is  at  the  best  but  an  abstract  still;  and  a bare 
abstract  will  never  do  the  business  as  it  ought  to  be  done. 

It  is  not  one  jot  derogatory  to  Seneca’s  character  to  observe 
2E 


350 


AN  AFTER-THOUGHT. 


upon  him,  that  he  maJe  it  his  profession,  rather  to  give  light 
hints  to  the  world,  than  to  write  corpuses  of  morality,  and 
nrescribe  rules  and  measures  in  a set  course  of  philosophy 
“br  the  common  instruction  of  mankind  : so  that  many  of 
nis  thoughts  seem  to  spring  only  like  sparks,  upon  a kind 
of  collision,  or  striking  of  fire  within  himself,  and  with  a 
very  little  dependence  sometimes  one  upon  another.  What 
if  those  incomparable  starts  and  strictures  of  his,  that  no 
translator  can  lay  hold  of,  shall  be  yet  allowed,  by  the  com- 
mon voice  of  mankind,  to  be  as  much  superior  to  those  parts 
of  him  that  will  bear  the  turning  as  the  faculties  and  opera- 
tions of  the  soul  are  to  the  functions  of  the  body  1 And  no 
way  of  conveying  the  benignity  of  those  influences  to  the 
world  but  by  a speculation  upon  them  in  paraphrase.  In 
few  words ; Seneca  was  a man  made  for  meditation.  He 
was  undoubtedly  a master  of  choice  thoughts,  and  he  em- 
ployed the  vigor  of  them  upon  a most  illustrious  subject. 
Beside  that,  that  this  ranging  humor  of  his  (as  Mr.  Hobbes 
expresses  it)  is  accompanied  with  so  wonderful  a felicity 
of  lively  and  pertinent  reflections,  even  in  the  most  ordi- 
nary occurrences  of  life,  and  his  applications  so  happy  also, 
that  every  man  reads  him  over  again  within  himself,  and 
feels  and  confesses  in  his  own  heart  the  truth  of  his  doc- 
trine. What  can  be  done  more  than  this  now  in  the  whole 
world  toward  establishing  of  a right  principle!  for  there  is 
no  test  of  the  truth  and  reason  of  things  like  that  which 
has  along  with  it,  the  assent  of  universal  nature.  As  he 
was  \nuch  given  to  thinking,  so  he  wrote  principally  for 
thinking  men ; the  periods  that  he  lays  most  stress  upon 
are  only  so  many  detachments  of  one  select  thought  from 
another,  and  every  fresh  hint  furnishes  a new  text  to  work 
upon.  So  that  the  reading  of  Seneca,  without  reading  upon 
him,  does  but  the  one-half  of  our  business ; for  his  innuendoes 
are  infinitely  more  instructive  than  his  words  at  length, 
and  there  is  no  coming  at  him  in  those  heights  without  a 
paraphrase. 

It  will  be  here  objected,  that  a paraphrase  is  but  the 
reading  upon  a text,  or  an  arbitrary  descant  upon  the  original, 
vt  the  will  and  pleasure  of  the  interpreter : if  we  have  all 
of  Seneca’s  that  is  good  already,  there  is  no  place  left  for  a 
supplement;  and  the  animadversion  will  be  no  more  Seneca’s 
at  last  than  our  comments  upon  the  Word  of  God  are  holy 
writ. 

A paraphrase,  it  is  true,  may  be  loose,  arbitrary,  and 


AN  AFTER-THOUGHT. 


351 


extravagant,  and  so  may  any  tiling  else  that  ever  was  com- 
mitted to  writing;  nay,  the  best  and  the  most  necessary  of 
duties,  faculties,  and  things,  may  degenerate,  by  the  abuse 
of  them,  into  acts  of  sin,  shame,  and  folly.  Men  may  blas- 
pheme in  their  prayers ; they  may  poison  one  another  in  their 
cups,  or  in  their  porridge ; they  may  talk  of  treason ; and 
in  short,  they  may  do  a million  of  extravagant  things,  in  all 
cases  and  offices  that  any  man  can  imagine  under  the  sun. 
And  what  is  the  objector’s  inference  now,  from  the  possi- 
bility of  this  abuse,  but  that  we  are  neither  to  pray,  nor  to 
eat,  nor  to  drink,  nor  to  open  our  mouths,  nor,  in  fine,  to  do 
any  thing  else,  for  fear  of  more  possibilities  as  dangerous  as 
the  other!  It  is  suggested  again,  that  the  paraphrase  is 
foreign  to  the  text,  and  that  the  animadverter  may  make 
the  author  speak  what  he  pleases.  Now,  the  question  is  not 
the  possibility  of  a vain,  an  empty,  a flat,  or  an  unedifying 
exposition ; but  the  need,  the  use,  the  means,  the  possibility, 
nay,  and  the  easiness  of  furnishing  a good  one : beside  that, 
there  is  no  hurt  at  all,  on  the  one  hand,  to  countervail  a very 
considerable  advantage  to  all  men  of  letters,  and  of  common 
honesty,  on  the  other.  A short  or  an  idle  comment  does 
only  disgrace  the  writer  of  it,  while  the  reputation  of  the 
author  stands  nevertheless  as  firm  as  ever  it  did ; but  he 
that  finishes  Seneca’s  minutes  with  proper  and  reasonable 
supplements,  where  he  does  not  speak  his  own  thoughts  out 
at  large,  does  a necessary  right  both  to  the  dead  and  to  tb  ^ 
living,  and  a common  service  to  mankind. 

He  does  a right  to  the  dead,  I say,  more  ways  than  one; 
for,  over  and  above  the  justice  and  respect  that  is  due  to  his 
memory,  it  is,  in  a fair  equity  of  construction,  a performance 
of  the  very  will  of  the  dead.  For  all  his  fragments  of  hint 
and  essay  were  manifestly  designed  for  other  people  to  medi- 
tate, i-ead,  and  speculate  upon : and  a great  part  of  the  end 
of  them  is  lost  without  such  an  improvement ; so  that  the 
very  manner  of  his  writings  call  for  a paraphrase ; a para- 
phrase he  expected,  and  a paraphrase  is  due  to  him ; and,  in 
short,  we  owe  a paraphrase  to  ourselves  too:  for  the  mean- 
ing of  his  hints  and  minutes  does  as  well  deserve  to  be  ex- 
pounded, as  the  sense  and  energy  of  his  words.  Nay,  and 
when  all  is  done,  whoever  considers  how  he  diversifies  the 
same  thing  over  and  over  in  a change  of  phrase ; how  many 
several  ways  he  winds  and  moulds  his  own  thoughts;  and 
how  he  labors  under  the  difficulty  of  clearing  even  his  c wn 
meaning ; whoever  considers  this,  I say,  will  find  Seneca, 


352 


AN  AFTER-THOUGHT. 


upon  the  whole  matter,  to  be,  in  a great  measure,  a para- 
phrast  upon  himself.  He  gives  you  his  first  sense  of  things, 
and  then  lie  enlarges  upon  it,  improves  it,  distinguishes,  ex- 
pounds, dilates,  &,c. ; and  when  he  finds  at  last  that  he  can- 
not bring  up  the  force  of  his  words  to  the  purity  and  vigor 
of  his  conception,  so  as  to  extricate  himself  in  all  respects  to 
his  own  satisfaction,  it  is  his  course  commonly,  to  draw  the 
stress  of  the  question  to  a point,  and  there  to  let  it  rest,  as  a 
theme  or  light  that  stands  effectually  recommended  to  far- 
ther consideration.  This  must  not  be  taken  as  if  Seneca 
could  not  speak  his  own  mind  as  full,  and  as  home  as  any 
man ; or  as  if  he  left  any  thing  imperfect,  because  he  could 
not  finish  it  himself;  but  it  was  a turn  of  art  in  him,  by 
breaking  off  with  an  &c.  to  create  an  appetite  in  the  reader 
of  pursuing  the  hint;  over  and  above,  the  flowing  of  matter 
so  fast  upon  him,  that  it  was  impossible  for  his  words  to 
keep  pace  with  his  thoughts. 

Be  this  now  spoken  with  all  reverence  to  his  divine  Essays 
upon  Providence,  Happy  Life,  Benefits,  Anger,  Clemency, 
Human  Frailty,  &c.  where  he  shows  as  much  of  skill  in  the 
distribution  of  his  matter,  the  congruity  and  proportion  of 
the  parts,  and  the  harmony  of  the  whole,  in  the  context,  as 
he  does  of  a natural  felicity  in  adapting  the  tendency  and  the 
virtue  of  all  his  sententious  raptures  to  the  use  of  human 
life.  So  that  he  was  evidently  in  possession  of  both  faculties, 
(of  springing  game,  that  is,  and  of  flying  it  home)  though 
he  made  choice  of  exercising  the  one  oftener  than  the  other. 
There  is  a vein  of  this  mixture  that  runs  through  all  his  dis- 
courses, whether  broken  or  continued.  Albeit,  that  there  is 
no  touching  any  piece  of  his  to  advantage  after  he  has  finish- 
ed it,  there  is  room  abundantly  yet  for  explication,  and  for 
supplement  in  other  cases,  where  he  snaps  off  short,  with  a 
kind  of  cetera  desiderantur ; and  so  leaves  a foundation  for 
those  to  build  upon  that  shall  come  after  him.  Now,  these 
independent  thoughts  are  the  touches  that  I would  offer  fo 
a farther  improvement;  and  only  here  and  there  one  of  the 
most  elevated  even  of  them  too;  which  will  amount  to  nc 
more  in  the  conclusion  than  a discourse  upon  this  or  that 
theme  or  text,  under  what  name  or  title  the  expositor 
pleases.  I would  not,  however,  have  the  comment  break 
in  upon  the  context;  and  I would  so  scrupulously  confine  it 
to  the  bounds  of  modesty  and  conscience,  as  not  to  depart, 
upon  any  terms,  either  from  the  intent  of  the  original,  or 
from  the  reason  of  the  matter  in  question ; this  office  per- 


AN  AFTER-THOUGHT. 


353 


formed,  would  raise  another  Seneca  out  of  the  ashes  of  the 
former ; and  make,  perhaps,  a manual  of  salutary  precepts, 
for  the  ordering  of  our  passions,  and  for  the  regulation  of  our 
lives,  not  inferior  to  any  other  whatsoever,  the  divine  oracles 
of  holy  inspiration  only  excepted.  For  it  would  reach  all 
states  of  men,  all  conditions  of  fortune,  all  distresses  of  body, 
all  perturbations  of  mind;  and,  in  fine,  it  would  answer  all 
the  ends  that  are  worthy  of  an  honest  man’s  care.  It  was 
once  in  my  head  to  digest  the  whole  into  such  an  abstract, 
as  might  at  the  same  time  do  the  office  also  of  a paraphrase, 
both  under  one : but  what  with  the  scruple  of  either  assum- 
ing any  of  Seneca’s  excellencies  to  myself,  or  of  imputing 
any  of  my  weakness  to  Seneca,.  I compounded  the  matter 
thus  within  myself;  that  though  both  would  do  well,  the 
doing  of  them  separate  and  apart  would  be  best.  Not  bu- 
that  the  undertaker,  I fear,  will  find  well-nigh  as  much  dif- 
ficulty to  preserve  his  own  reputation  in  his  attempt,  as  to 
do  right  to  the  author ; especially  when  he  is  sure  to  have 
every  coffee-house  sit  upon  him  like  a court  of  justice;  and 
if  he  shall  but  happen  to  stumble  upon  any  of  the  same 
figures  or  illustrations  over  again ; if  the  supplement  shall 
but  have  so  much  as  the  least  tincture  of  any  thing  that  is 
done  already;  a common  criminal,  for  the  basest  sort  of 
washing,  clipping,  and  coining,  shall  find  better  quarter. 
Here  is  the  old  abstract,  they  will  cry,  juggled  into  a new 
paraphrase,  and  the  same  thing  fobbed  upon  the  world  over 
again,  only  under  another  name : it  will  be  hard  to  get  clear 
of  such  a cavil  when  it  shall  be  started,  and  it  will  be  a very 
easy  thing  to  find  out  a plausible  color  for  the  setting  of  it 
afoot. 

As  to  the  supposal  of  disparaging  an  excellent  author  by 
a lewd  paraphrase,  it  is  as  idle  as  to  imagine  that  a canoni- 
cal text  should  suffer  for  an  heretical  interpretation.  And  so 
for  the  fancy  of  robbing  him  of  his  due  by  a good  one,  in  a 
case  where  the  single  point  is  only  a virtuous  emulation  be- 
twixt them,  which  shall  do  best  upon  the  same  topic.  Now, 
where  the  comment  has  a kindness  for  the  text,  there  can 
be  no  interfering  upon  a pique  of  honor,  though  they  should 
both  happen  to  agree  in  the  very  self-same  thoughts.  For 
what  is  all  the  writing,  reading,  discoursing,  consulting, 
disputing,  meditating,  compounding,  and  dividing,  from  the 
first  quickening  breath  of  the  Almighty  into  reasonable  Na- 
ture to  this  very  moment ; what  is  all  this,  I say,  but  the 
lighting  of  one  candle  at  another  1 Make  it  the  case,  that 
2E2 


354 


AN  AFTEE-THOUGHT. 


by  the  benefit  of  that  light  I find  a treasure.  Here  is  nc 
robbing  of  Peter  to  pay  Paul ; nor  any  particular  obligation 
for  an  act  of  common  humanity.  Reason  works  by  com- 
munication ; and  one  thought  kindles  another  from  genera- 
tion to  generation,  as  naturally  as  one  spark  begets  another, 
where  the  matter  is  disposed  for  the  impression. 

This  is  no  more  than  to  say  that  Providence,  for  the  good 
of  mankind,  has  made  all  men  necessary  one  to  anotlier. 
He  that  puts  a good  hint  into  my  head,  puts  a good  word 
into  my  mouth,  unless  a blockhead  has  it  in  keeping : sc 
tliat  there  is  an  obligation  on  both  sides.  The  text  is  be- 
holden to  him  that  reads  upon  it  for  improving  it ; and  the 
latter  had  never  thought  of  the  subject  perhaps,  if  the  former 
had  not  bolted  it.  What  is  all  this  now  but  reasoning  upon 
first  motions,  and  a joining  of  those  two  powers  or  faculties 
both  in  one  for  a public  good  1 Reason  is  uniform  ; and  where 
two  men  are  in  the  riglit,  they  must  of  necessity  agree 
upon  the  same  point : and  the  thoughts  of  several  men  in 
such  a case,  are  as  much  one,  as  a conflagration  is  one  fire, 
by  how  many  several  hands  soever  it  was  kindled : so  that 
there  is  no  saying  which  was  one’s  thought  or  which  the 
other’s ; but  they  are  incorporated  into  one  common  stock. 
The  great  nicety  will  lie  in  a judicious  choice  what  to  take 
and  what  to  leave ; where  to  begin  and  where  to  end ; and 
in  hitting  the  precise  medium  betwixt  too  much  and  too 
little,  without  forcing  the  design  of  the  author,  or  intermix- 
ing any  tawdry  flourishes  by  the  by,  to  disgrace  the  dignity 
of  the  matter.  I would  not  have  so  much  as  one  word  in- 
serted that  might  not  become  Seneca  himself,  if  he  were 
now  living,  either  to  speak  or  approve.  Once  for  all,  such 
a reading  upon  Seneca  as  I have  here  propounded,  upon 
these  terms,  and  under  these  conditions,  and  in  such  a man- 
ner too,  as  to  take  the  genuine  air  and  figure  of  his  mind, 
in  its  native  simplicity  and  beauty ; such  a paraphrase,  I 
say,  superadded  by  way  of  supplement,  where  the  Abstract 
falls  short,  would  furnish  us  with  that  which  of  all  things 
in  the  world  we  want  the  most ; that  is  to  say,  a perfect 
and  a lively  image  of  Human  Nature. 


THE  END. 


355 


CONTENTS. 


OF  BENEFITS. 

Page 

Chapter  I.  Of  benefits  in  general, 17 

II.  Several  sorts  of  benefits, 18 

III.  A son  may  oblige  his  father,  and  a ser- 
vant his  master, 19 

IV.  It  is  the  intention,  not  the  matter,  that 

makes  the  benefit, 23 

V.  There  must  be  judgment  in  a benefit, 

as  well  as  matter  and  intention,  and 
especially  in  the  choice  of  the  person,  25 

VI.  The  matter  of  obligations,  with  its 

circumstances,  27 

VII.  The  manner  of  obliging, 30 

VIII.  The  difference  and  value  of  benefits,  33 

IX.  An  honest  man  cannot  be  outdone  in 

courtesy, 37 

X.  The  question  discussed,  whether  or  not  a 

man  may  give  or  return  a benefit  to  him- 
self,   39 

XI.  How  far  one  man  may  be  obliged  for  a 

benefit  done  to  another, 41 

XII.  The  benefactor  must  have  no  by-ends,  43 

XIII.  There  are  many  cases  wherein  a man 

may  be'minded  of  a benefit,  but  it  is  verj 
rarely  to  be  challenged,  and  never  to  be 

upbraided, 49 

XIV.  How  far  to  oblige  or  requite  a wicked 

man, 54 

XV.  A general  view  of  the  parts  and  duties 

of  the  benefactor,  59 

XVI.  How  the  receiver  ought  to  behave 

himself,  52 

XVII.  Of  Gratitude, 67 

XVIII.  Gratitude  mistaken,  ....  . 70 

XIX.  Of  ingratitude 73 

— XX.  There  can  be  no  law  against  ingrati- 
tude,   76 


358 


CONTENTS. 


OF  A HAPPY  LIFE. 

I’a^e 

Chapter  1.  Of  a happy  life,  and  wherein  it  consists,  SO 
II.  Human  happiness  is  founded  upon  wis- 
dom and  virtue;  and  first,  of  wisdom,  82 

III.  There  can  be  no  happiness  without 

virtue, 86 

IV.  Philosophy  is  the  guide  of  life,  ....  93 

V.  The  force  of  precepts, 100 

VI.  No  felicity  like  peace  of  conscience,  106 

VII.  A good  man  can  never  be  miserable, 

nor  a wicked  man  happy, 110 

VIII.  The  due  contemplation  ofdivine  provi- 
dence is  the  certain  cure  of  all  misfortunes,  113 
IX.  Of  levity  of  mind,  and  other  impedi- 
ments of  a happy  life, 119 

X.  He  that  sets  up  his  rest  upon  contin- 
gencies shall  never  be  at  quiet, 125 

XI.  A sensual  life  is  a miserable  life,  . . . 129 

XII.  Avarice  and  ambition  are  insatiable 

and  restless, 134 

XIII.  Hope  and  fear  are  the  bane  of  human 

life,  140 

XIV.  It  is  according  to  the  true  or  false 

estimate  of  things  that  we  are  happy 

or  miserable,  143 

XV.  The  blessings  of  temperance  and  mode- 
ration,   146 

XVI.  Constancy  of  mind  gives  a man  repu- 
tation, and  makes  him  happy  in  despite 

of  all  misfortunes, 153 

\ XVII.  Our  happiness  depends  in  a great 

measure  upon  the  choice  of  our  company,  160 

XVIII.  The  blessings  of  friendship,  ....  164 

XIX.  He  that  would  be  happy,  must  take 

an  account  of  his  time, 167 

XX.  Happy  is  the  man  that  may  choose  his 

own  business, 173 

XXL  The  contempt  of  death  makes  all  the 

miseries  of  life  easy  to  us, 178 

XXII.  Consolations  against  death,  from  the 

providence  and  the  necessity  of  it,  . . . 185 


CONTENTS. 


357 

Pagt 

Chafper  XXIII.  Against  immoderate  sorrow  for  the 

death  of  friends, 189 

XXIV.  Consolations  against  banishment 

and  bodily  pain,  193 

XXV.  Poverty  to  a wise  man  is  rather  a 

blessing  than  a misfortune, 197 

OF  ANGER. 

1.  Anger  described : it  is  against  nature : 

and  only  to  be  found  in  man,  202 

II.  The  rise  of  anger 204 

III.  Anger  may  be  suppressed, 206 

IV.  It  is  a short  madness  and  deformed  vice,  209 

V.  Anger  is  neither  warrantable  nor  useful,  211 

— VI.  Anger  in  general,  with  the  danger  and 

effects  of  it 218 

VII.  The  ordinary  grounds  and  occasions  of 

anger, 225 

VIII.  Advice  in  the  case  of  contumely  and 

revenge, 229 

IX.  Cautions  against  anger  in  the  matter  of 

education,  converse,  and  other  general 
means  of  preventing  it,  both  in  ourselves 

and  others, 233 

X.  Against  rash  judgment, 238 

XI.  Take  nothing  ill  from  another  man,  until 

you  have  made  it  your  own  case,  ....  241 

XII.  Of  cruelty,  243 

Of  clemency, 248 

EPISTLES. 

Fjpistle  I.  Certain  general  directions  for  the  govern- 
ment of  the  voice ; as  in  speaking  soft  or 
loud;  quick  or  slow.  The  speech  is  the 

index  of  the  mind, 261 

II.  Of  styles,  compositior.s,  and  the  choice  of 

words.  Thai  is  the  best  way  of  writing 
and  speaking  which  is  free  and  natural. 

Advice  concerning  reading, 263 

III.  Against  all  sorts  of  affectation  in  dis- 
course: fantastical  studies;  impertinent 
and  unprofitable  subtleties.  Man’s  busi- 
ness is  virtue,  not  words,  266 


358 


CONTENTS. 


Kpistle  IV.  Swsmess,  and  want  of  news,  are  no  excuse 
among  friends  for  not  writing.  Wise  men 
are  the  better  for  one  another.  How  far 
wisdom  may  be  advanced  by  precept,  . . . 270 

Seneca  gives  an  account  of  himself,  his 

studies,  and  of  his  inclinations;  with  many 
excellent  reflections  upon  the  duties  and 

the  errors  of  human  life 275 

VI.  The  blessings  of  a virtuous  retirement. 

How  we  come  to  the  knowledge  of  virtue. 

A distinction  betwixt  good  and  honest.  A 
wise  man  contents  himself  with  his  lot,  . 279 

VII.  Of  impertinent  studies,  and  impertinent 

men.  Philosophers  the  best  companions,  284 

VIII.  Against  singularity  of  manners  and 

behavior, 266 

• IX.  The  blessings  of  a vigorous  mind  in  a 

decayed  body.  With  some  pertinent  reflec- 
tions of  Seneca  upon  his  own  age,  ....  288 

— X.  Custom  is  a great  matter  either  in  good 

or  ill.  We  should  /check  our  passions 
betimes.  Involuntary  motiows  are  invincible,  29P 
XI.  We  are  divided  in  ourselves;  and  con- 
found good  and  evil, 293 

XII.  We  are  moved  at  the  novelty  of  things, 

for  want  ofunderstand  ing  the  reason  of  them  296 

XIII.  Every  man  is  the  artificer  of  his  own 

fortune.  Of.  justice  and  injustice,  ....  298 

XIV.  Of  trust,  in  friendship,  prayer,  and 

bodily  exercise, 300 

— - XV.  The  danger  of^attery;  and  in  what  cases 

a man  may  be  allowe'd  to  commend  himself,  303 

XVI.  A general  dissolution  of  manners ; with 

a censure  of  corrupt  magistrates, 305 

XVII.  The  original  of  all  men  is  the  same: 

and  virtue  is  the  only  nobility.  There  is 

a tenderness  due  to  servants,  308 

XVIII.  We  are  more  just  to  men  than  to  God. 

Of  life  and  death  : of  good  and  evil,  . . . 310 

■ XIX.  Of  true  courage, 314 

XX.  It  is  never  too  late  to  tear/i.  The  advan- 
tages of  a private  life ; and  the  slavery  of 
a public.  The  ends  of  punishments,  . . 316 


CONTENTS. 


359 

Page 

Kpistef.  XXL  The  two  blessings  of  life  are  a sound 
body  and  a quiet  mind.  The  extravagance 
of  the  Roman  luxury ; the  moderation  and 

simplicity  of  former  times, 320 

XXII.  Man  is  compounded  of  soul  and  body ; 

and  has  naturally  a civil  war  within  him- 
self. The  difference  betwixt  a life  of  virtue 

and  a life  of  pleasure, 323 

XXIII.  We  abuse  God’s  blessings,  and  turn 

them  into  mischiefs.  Meditations  upon  the 
horrors  of  earthquakes,  and  consolations 
against  them.  Death  is  the  same  thing, 
which  way  soever  it  comes ; only  we  are 
more  moved  by  accidents  that  we  are  not 

used  to, 326 

XXIV.  A discourse  of  God’s  providence  in 

the  misfortimes  of  good  men  in  this  world, 
and  in  the  prosperity  of  the  wicked,  . . . 330 

XXV.  A wise  and  a good  man  is  proof  against 

all  accidents.  Of  fate, 334 

XXVI.  All  things  are  produced  of  cause  and 

matter.  Of  Providence.  A brave  man  is  a 

match  for  Fortune, 337 

XXVII.  Some  traditions  of  the  Ancients  con- 
cerning thunder  and  lightning ; witli  the 
Author's  contemplations  thereupon,  . . . 340 

XXVIII.  A contemplation  of  heaven  and 

heavenly  things.  Of  God  and  of  the  soul,  342 

Postscript, 347 

An  After-thought, 34S 


1 


